


Enslaved to Suffer

by KuribohBBQ



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Angst, Argonians, Attempt at Humor, Childhood Friends, Depression, Eventual Romance, Extremely Slow Burn, F/M, Family Secrets, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Khajiit Werewolf, M/M, Orcs, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Slavery, Stormcloaks, Time Skips, Too much fluff, Werewolf Fluff, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:21:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22358689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuribohBBQ/pseuds/KuribohBBQ
Summary: (Finally uploaded here from my old fanfic account)Stripped from his caravan family and held in an auction to be bought, young Do'kir is reduced to a petty slave. With nowhere to go and no clue where his dear sister is, Do'kir accepts his fate. But maybe being a slave to this family of two isn't all bad? Especially when a small, little Nord child takes a certain curiosity at the cat. FLUFF, and Khajiit Dragonborn in future chapters
Relationships: Future Male Orc/ Male Argonian, Khajiit/Nord - Relationship, Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Original Female Character(s), Male Khajiit Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Original Female Character(s), Male Orc/Male Argonian
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	1. Prologue

Do'kir felt himself be roughly kicked to the top of a wooden stadium. His initial reaction was to shout out in pain, but a crushing tightness around his throat combined with the smelly sack stuffed over his head made it near impossible to breathe. And though darkness shrouded his vision, he could feel the piercing gazes of ten-to-hundreds of people sizing him up and their rambunctious shouts of their offers.

Immeasurable amounts of fear bubbled within Do'kir. Questions raced across his fretting mind. Where is Do'kir? What happened to Do'kir's caravan? Where is Do'kir's family?

The Khajiit calmed his mind to the best of his abilities and focused on his blurred memories. He remembered… traveling with his family… playing with his sister… mother scolding them... then the wagon caught on fire… the horses ran… screaming… and… darkness.

And it all leads to here.

"HAVE I'VE GOT A SPECIAL OFFER FOR YOU LADIES AND GENTLMEN!" a voiced shouted next to Do'kir's bleeding ears. Something rough grabbed the back of his neck and shoved him forward. The cheers and awes only grew louder.

"THIS HERE'S SLAVE IS A FRESH ONE CAUGHT UNHARMBED BY OUR MOST PROFFESIONAL DARK ELF SLAVE HUNTERS! AND CAUGHT FRESH FROM WHAT YOU MAY ASK? WELL, HE'S A KHAJIIT! THE BEST KHAJIIT SLAVES COME FROM TRAVELING CARAVANS WHERE THE HARDHSHIPS OF TRAVEL HAVE MOLDED THEM TO BE PERFECT WORKERS!"

Do'kir felt two, slimy hands pull off his shirt over his head.

"SEE? QUITE THE SPECIMEN, AIN'T HE! AND IT'S PROVEN BY THE SCHOLARS AT IMPERIAL CITY THAT RED-FURRED KHAJIIT PROVIDE THE BEST AMOUNT OF WORK THAN ANY OTHER!"

Do'kir heard the excited crowed agree in amazement.

"OFFERS STARTING AT 200 PIECES OF GOLD. NOW, WHO'S MY FIRST BIDDER?"

"TWO HUNDRED FIFTY!" a voice shouted.

"THREE HUNDRED FIFTY!" came another voice.

"FOUR HUNDRED!" shouted another.

And it went on and on. As the price kept raising beyond one thousand, the crowd became quieter and quieter. Until…

"TWO THOUSAND GOLD PIECES FROM THE RICH-LOOKING FELLOW OVER THERE! IS THERE NOT ANYONE WHO CAN BEAT THAT BID?"

From underneath the sack, Do'kir cried amongst the murmuring crowd. He didn't want to be sold as a slave. He wanted to be with his family. He wanted to keep playing with his sister.

"Ten thousand gold pieces…" a firm and strong voice said calmly.

Do'kir heard the entire crowd become silenced.

"OI! RICH-LOOKING FELLOW? CAT GOT YOUR TONGUE? NOT THAT BIG OF A SPENDER ARE YOU?"

Silence continued to follow.

"ALL RIGHT THEN, ANYBODY WILLING TO BID OVER TEN THOUSAND? WHAT? NO ONE? GOING ONCE… GOING TWICE… AAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNND THE WINNER OF THIS SLAVE IS THAT NORD OVER THERE! CONGRATULATIONS! WHY DON'T YOU COME UP TO THE STADIUM TO INSPECT YOUR PRIZE?"

Do'kir whimpered as heavy footsteps climbed the stairs and approached him.

"Take off the bag," the Nord ordered.

The same slimy hands undid the knot and pulled off the sack. Do'kir attempted for a breath of fresh air… but froze. Gazing down at him was a pair of fierce, cold blue eyes that belonged to a fearsome-looking Nord. His face had a ragged, blonde goatee in a desperate need of trimming. Etched onto his face were countless scars that foretold of his countless battles.

The Nord's hand made a rough grab for Do'kir's muzzle. The cat made no resistance as the Nord kept turning his slave's head, inspecting every inch and corner. "Hmph… you'll do," he said, seemingly satisfied with his purchase.

"Thank you for your purchase, Sir…" the voice didn't know how to finish.

Do'kir looked to his right to find a skinny, bald Dark Elf having trouble finishing his sentence.

"Tallowhand," the Nord answered, but never shifted his attention to the Dark Elf.

"Thank you for your purchase, Sir Tallowhand. I must admit, I've never seen your face around here, nor have I witnessed a price such as yours."

Sir Tallowhand shot him a deadly gaze. "Is that a problem?"

The elf shrunk in fear. "Of course not, Sir Tallowhand! Enjoy your new slave and I wish you safe travels."

The Nord grunted and grabbed Do'kir's hand. "Follow me, Boy. We're leaving."

Do'kir didn't hesitate. He allowed the Nord to drag him down the stadium and past the crowd that glared at the cat with jealously and malicious intent. Do'kir looked around and discovered the slave auction took place in the middle of hot, dry canyon. Then he took a glance at Sir Tallowhand, taking notice of the large sword resting at his waist that only added to his fearsome visage.

"AND NOW, FOR MY NEXT OFFER! HERE'S A LITTLE ONE TAKEN FROM THE SAME CARAVAN AS THAT BOY OVER THERE! SHE MAY NOT LOOK MUCH, BUT I PROMISE YOU THAT THERE'S MORE THAN WHAT MEETS THE EYE, FOLKS!"

Realization hit Do'kir. He made a move to look back… to shout for his sister's name… but another rough hand grabbed the back of his neck. The cat froze. If he moved even an inch, that hand would crush his neck.

"Don't look back, Boy!" the Nord ordered. Then he finished in a sympathetic tone. "You'll only make it harder for yourself."

Do'kir nodded, tears staining his fur.

He led him outside the canyon where many stationed horses and wagons awaited for their drivers. Sir Tallowhand helped the Khajiit up the wagon. Then Do'kir simply watched as the Nord took the driver's seat and grabbed the reins.

And then, they were off.

Do'kir looked back at the fading canyon. "K'ara…" he whimpered.

The Nord sighed and urged the horse to travel faster.

The path's scenery shifted as day became night and night became day. For the first few days, they traveled across a dry, barren land where the earth swallowed any drop of water. Then it became a humid, green forest where the skulking predators within the shadows watched them as they go. Do'kir believed it was the Nord's hand at his sword that kept them at bay. Then finally, the path seemed to be satisfied to being a clear, dirt path with a luscious, green field going as far as the eye can see.

Throughout the entire trip, the Nord handed plenty of food and water to Do'kir. From apples and oranges, to delicious cheeses and bread. Despite being well-fed, Do'kir had trouble sleeping. Sure, sleeping on a creaky, wooden wagon is not the most comfortable places to sleep, but it was mostly his sister that kept him awake. Where is she and what exactly is happening to her right now? Every night, he stared at the luminous moons, praying to Jone and Jode for her safety.

Finally, on the 5th night, he slept.

"Wake up, Boy, we're here."

A large hand on Do'kir's shoulde stirred him from sleep. Groggily, he sat up and stretched like cat. His back hurt. His head hurt. And it was still night. Wonderful.

"Hurry up, Boy," the Nord called again. "You've already wasted enough my time."

The Nord waited patiently as the Khajiit weakly hopped down the wagon. He lost his footing and nearly fell, but quickly regained his balance.

With a torch lit, the Nord ordered, "Follow me."

Do'kir made no qualms. He followed the Nord up the dirt path. Through his blurred vision, the cat could make out a house.

What the moon shined upon with its luminous, white light was a whole house almost as imposing as the Nord in front of Do'kir. A garden was laid to one side and a stable at the they made it to the entrance, the Nord set the torch on the stand near the door. As he searched for the keys in his pocket, he told the cat, "My daughter already set up a late dinner for us, but don't expect any stew or steak. She's five. Can't cook yet. Hope you like more cheese and bread for dinner."

Do'kir didn't care. He was too tired to care.

The Khajiit followed the Nord through the door and into an empty hallway. He was too tired to take any details. But the cat did pick up a couple of open books scattered across the floors.

"Sorry for the mess you're going to clean up tomorrow," the Nord apologized. "But my daughter does love her books."

Do'kir didn't answer.

The Nord led him to the dining table where two plates of bread and cheese and two goblets of water awaited them. Both took their seats, but Do'kir made sure to move his plate and sit as far as away from the Nord as possible.

The Nord ate eagerly, but the Khajiit just simply sat there, staring at his food with dull, dead eyes.

Finishing with a burp, the Nord led the cat upstairs to his room. Do'kir had enough curiosity to look around at all the nothing that decorated his room. At least his decent bed near the window was being basked in pure, white moonlight.

"Get some sleep. Work starts tomorrow. Goodnight," the Nord said before closing the door behind him.

His words never seemed to reach Do'kir. He was too busy standing at the same spot he's been standing on for five minutes, trying to process everything that has happened. Until, finally, he broke down to floor, crying as silently as he could. When he could cry no more, he took notice of his bed. He slumped his body across the room and threw himself over the bed, never bothering to put on the blanket, and weeped dry tears.

Suddenly, the door creaked open and Do'kir's weak eyes shifted toward the sound. It wasn't the Nord that he saw. Rather, it was a Nord as small as a child who tiptoed near silently across the room towards Do'kir. With the aid of moonlight, the cat could make out the child's features.

She saw the world through the same colored eyes as her father's, but it wasn't as cold or fierce. She witnessed the entire world around her through innocent and curious eyes. And she wasn't blonde either. She had beautiful, long, red hair rivaling that of his own red fur.

Do'kir didn't know why, but he sat up to greet the child, but as soon as did, the child immediately bolted out the door. The cat's ears fell in disappointment.

At least he was left to cry throughout the night alone.


	2. Little One

"You must hurry, K'ara, they are coming!" Do'kir urged his little sister by the hand.

K'ara wanted to keep on running, but exhaustion caused the little cat to break down to the mud, dirtying her red fur further. The heavy rain pelted the young one's face as she stared up at Do'kir with teary eyes. "But Brother…" she whimpered. "What about Mommy and Daddy?"

Do'kir knelt down to his sister and firmly grasped her hand with both of his. A smile full of mud, he assured, "Don't worry about our parent's, Little One. You know Father can fight with a sword as well as he can sell it. And Mother is a tricky one. They will not catch her so easily."

Warmth returned in his sister's smile. She prepared to thank him, but a dreadful cry broke the siblings' moment.

"Spotted two just outside the forest! Come on, you bastards! Get a move on or else we'll lose them!"

Do'kir was about to run for it, but something anchored him in place. He looked down to find K'ara still stuck and drenched in the mud, nearly in tears.

"Brother… I can't move…"

The older brother wasted no time. He lifted his sister onto his back and trekked through the mud and into the darkness of the forest where no moonlight shined their path. Do'kir ran as long as he could constantly making sure his sister was secured in place. But no matter how far or fast he willed himself to run, the splashing footsteps and the blazing torches that slowly gained on him never ceased their chase. His breathing became labored, his legs began to wither, and the arms that secured his sister becoming too feeble.

"Brother, look!" K'ara shouted at his ears, pointing a claw. "A cabin! We can hide in there!"

He made no argument. Do'kir rushed to the cabin's entrance and he calmed his quivering hand just enough for him to turn the knob.

It was locked.

The older cat looked to his sister and she nodded. Do'kir knelt down where her sister came face to face with the knob. Unsheathing a claw, K'ara's right hand worked on the lock. Her brother smiled proudly as she worked. Her particular talent had developed at such a young age, and has proven to be very useful to the siblings, especially during times they wanted the sweets their mother had locked away in the safe box. Soon the door unlocked with a "clink!" and Do'kir barged in ahead. He kicked the door shut and his sister needn't any motion to lock it again.

"Those filthy cats locked into the cabin! Hurry up, you lot! Break down the door!"

The sibling's breaths were lost to their fear.

A thunderous slam banged on the door and wood crackled.

Do'kir stepped back. His sister yelped in pain when she hit a wall.

The older brother's distraught eyes made a desperate search for anything in the cabin. To his horror, there was nothing! No room to run in! No closet to hide in! And not even a table to shelter under! Everything was just empty.

The banging steadily ruptured the door in sickening cracks that spread across like a growing infection. It wouldn't be long before the frail barrier shattered.

"Brother, what are we going to do?" K'ara sobbed into his shoulder.

He crumpled to the floor. Fear and uncertainty had stolen away his answer. All he could do to comfort his crying sister was to hold her tight, doing his best to block the rest of the world from his sister.

"Are you really going to make me get you outta there, Boy?!" someone at the other side of the door shouted. The banging continued. Do'kir gulped. That voice reminded him so much of an imposing man who wielded a fearsome sword.

"Boy! Will you wake up already!"

Do'kir's eyes shot open and immediately met the morning sun's searing glare that shot through his window. He stirred and sat up from bed, light bathing his back.

"Hmph, finally awake, are you?" the Nord grunted behind the door. "Well, hurry up and come down for breakfast! Can't have you dying on me because of an empty stomach."

Heavy footsteps traveled down the stairs. Do'kir remained seated, motionless eyes gazing absently at his claws. His spirit was remained trapped in the dream. He could still feel the pounding, harsh rain and the mud that caked his fur.

Do'kir wouldn't accept it. He couldn't accept it! He couldn't be a slave! He should've awoken in his tent with his dear, little sister nudging him awake. This has to be nothing but a dream. His claws, his hands, the bed, the sun behind him, and that Nord all a dream. But then he remembered the fire, the storms, the harsh rain, and his sister's muddy tears…

If this wasn't a dream, then this must be all a nightmare he'll never wake from.

A decision later crossed his mind when he remembered the Nord. He could just ignore the obnoxious Nord's orders and get some much needed sleep, but the Nord's fearsome sword gleamed dangerously in his mind. After much debate, the Khajiit decided it's always better to have breakfast than having your head cut off.

Stiff, tired, and shirtless since the auction, Do'kir got up and slumped to his door at a snail's pace. And he wasted a full minute wondering if he should open it now or later. His sharp ears perked up at the noises downstairs, plates being placed over a table while heavy footsteps thudded across the wooden floor. And if he strained his ears hard enough, he could make out a small, sweet voice and a trail of light footsteps skipping into another room.

"Boy! What in Oblivion is taking you so long?"

Do'kir sighed and stepped out the door. A delicious scent of rabbit haunch over a hot fire wafted into his sensitive nose. His muzzle overflowed hungry drool. Though, he quickly wiped it off, disgusted at himself. He's a slave here! Not a guest. Hesitance slowed his creaking steps as he went down the stairs. A shirt was thrown at him by the time he reached the end. He pried it off. Venom was laced in the daggers the Khajiit glared at the Nord who sat so casually at the table.

"Put that on," he ordered. Remaining silent, the cat made no objections. Do'kir put it on. The fabric was rough and uncomfortable and already there were places he needed to scratch.

In morning's light, Do'kir witnessed the kitchen in better detail. A crowed of barrels were huddled at one corner of the room while stack after stack of sacks were piled over the other. Shelves that were etched high onto the walls were seemingly decorated with beautiful, silver goblets and plates that would shine proudly under any light (and fetch a high price at his caravan if he might add).

Do'kir noticed his plate had been set across the Nord. The cat grasped his plate. He prepared to slide it across to the other end of the table, but a firm hand grasped his wrist. "Hold it, Boy. I need to talk to you."

The Khajiit showed no resistance. What would be the point? He nodded and took a seat. He avoided the Nord's hard gaze by directing his solemn eyes at his untouched food.

The Nord crossed his arms. "All right, let's get introductions over with. What's your name?"

The cat mumbled.

Angered, the Nord shouted, "What's the matter, cat? Got your own tongue? Speak up, Boy!"

"Do'kir…" he mumbled louder.

The Nord sighed. "Better at least. I'll call you by your name once you've proven to me you're worth remembering your name. Now, my name is Bulfnir Tallowhand, but you will and ONLY will address me as Sir Tallowhand. If you ask me, I don't like the sound of sir, but it's better than you calling me Master Tallowhand."

"Yes Sir."

Bulfnir poisoned his glare. "You're going to have to address me more formally than that, Boy."

Do'kir swallowed down his pride. "As you wish… Sir Tallowhand."

A sudden urge to vomit threatened to ruin his food.

"Excellent. Before I get you started working, got any experience, talents, abilities, or disabilities I should know about you?"

Do'kir remained silent.

"It's best if you answer me, Boy. I could assume right now you're talented in dealing with the beasts prowling around the forest not too far from here."

A tinge of fear shuddered in the cat. He decided to answer in a feverish tone. "When Do'kir traveled with his fa-… his caravan, this one received experience working on farms when Khajiit needed supplies."

Satisfied, Bulfnir grinned.. "Good. I believe these chores will be best suited for you."

The Nord dug into his pocket and fished out a tattered piece of brown paper. Do'kir barely registered it when it waved over his face. The Khajiit went over the list. These chores weren't too difficult. Just the standard clean the house, harvest the vegetables, and feed the horse and what not. All things he could finish by the late afternoon.

"Those are the usual, daily chores it's best I see done when I return tonight," Bulfnir explained. Do'kir gawked. The Nord had returned to the kitchen in a full suit of spotless, steel-plated armor. Light that poured in from the open, front door refracted off the stainless metal and gleamed almost boastful at the cat's eyes. Do'kir's father taught him a thing or two about finding quality in items, and he has to admit, that armor is truly fit to be sold for any warrior ready to rush off into battle. The Nord finished the set as he worked on putting on his gauntlets. He went on speaking. "Occasionally, I might add a few new ones depending on the circumstance. Once I start seeing some muscles on those twigs you call arms, start expecting more challenging work."

He sounded as if Do'kir intends to stay for that long.

Bulfnir remembered something. "Oh, and one more thing. And this won't be a chore for you, but a task. Listen carefully, Boy, because I want this to be etched into your mind and not some piece of paper."

The graveness the Nord bore into the cat through his unyielding eyes froze Do'kir all over.

"Protect my daughter. Make sure nothing happens to her."

A strange sense of duty caused the cat to nod without his consent. Repulsed by willingly accepting the Nord's task, he shifted his gaze away from him like a an annoyed toddler, scorned written all over.

That ticked the Nord. "You should feel lucky, Boy. You may be a slave, but I've given you food, clothes, and a roof to sleep under with a decent bed. If I hadn't wasted over half the gold I make in a month, you'd probably be chained, underfed and overworked, and beaten for amusement by the savages I saw in that auction." The Khajiit said nothing, his scornful expression softening with tears. Satisfied, the Nord turned and headed for the door.

Do'kir was determined to have the last word.

"Excuse this Khajiit, Sir Tallowhand," the cat dared to speak to him in a loathsome tone. Anger mixed with tears, Do'kir scowled at the Nord. "If you think yourself so kind, why didn't you save this one's sister?"

Anger's spark ignited in the Nord's eyes. Do'kir didn't flinch. He fully braced himself for whatever punishment awaited him, but instead was surprised that the Nord quelled that spark in an understanding sigh. The Nord left and shut the door behind him. The Khajiit waited for a few seconds.

Birds chirped. The trees rustled against the wind. A gentle breeze brushed against the house. Do'kir was alone in this empty and quiet house.

His snout took a whiff at the air, and immediately his muzzle refueled in drool. Wasting no time, he wolfed down every single thing his mind registered as food on the plate. He scarfed down an entire bread loaf in three swift bites, not even chewing the cheese wedge he swallowed whole, and scavenged for every piece of meat the rabbit haunch had to offer. Do'kir usually wasn't such a savage eater, his mother had even scolded him for eating too quietly, but his starving stomach roared and demanded food. He was so busy in feasting that he failed to notice a small figure from behind tip toe its way towards him.

Do'kir's ears perked. Licking remnants off his claws, the cat turned around.

"Boo!"

His basic instincts nearly drove him into clinging to the ceiling. What just assaulted him was a child squishing her plush face as she mimicked a roaring predator with hands raised as if those blunt nails were claws. Her intelligent, blue eyes sparkled sweet innocence and her cute smile could melt even the most coldhearted of Daedra.

He barely managed to regain himself. "H-hello…" He was at lost for words what to call her. "Little one…

She giggled.

"What, if this one may ask, is so funny?"

She glanced at him with her adorable eyes. "You talk funny!"

Anger festered within him. How dare she insult his accent! That's equivalent to spitting on Khajiit culture. Do'kir's eyes sharpened into a leer.

Incredibly, she was oblivious to it. "Did you like the food, Kitty?" she asked, excitement balled into her hopeful fists.

Do'kir gaped.

Kitty!? Out of all the years racists have thrown insults at his kind, Kitty by far wielded the sharpest sword to jab away at his pride. Lowering to a slave is one thing. Being a reduced to a mere pet name? Why he oughtta…

Do'kir sighed and nodded.

That spiked her happiness. "Thanks! I asked Papa if he could give you more food. You're welcome." The child stood straight, awaiting her praise.

He scoffed at her.

Her stance broke apart in disappointment. Then a question relit the spark in her eyes. "What's your name? Papa said he didn't ask when he left."

Did he now?

"Do'kir," he said plainly.

Confusion had overtaken her face. Her lips struggled to form his name. "Do… Do'kir?"

He nodded. "Yes, that's right, Little One. Not many can pronounce this one's name, not even Do'kir himself when he was your age." The Nord child cheered excitedly over her achievement. Do'kir rolled his eyes.

He was about to bother to ask her for her own name, but she intercepted. "You're name is funny too!"

Ok, this child is about as annoying as a picky customer. Do'kir sat up abruptly. Better to start doing chores than listen to this child ramble on about how funny he is. He stared down at the tattered paper in his hand.

Clean the house

An easy job to start off with. In a house only sheltering two people, how messy can the place be? Very messy, Do'kir soon found out the moment he entered the living room. It could've been described as a modest living room (with a beautifully-carved, stone fireplace, bookshelves, and a set of nice, comfortable chairs) if it weren't for the fact the whole room was riddled with books, some whose pages were carelessly left open to the elements. Books littered the tables, the chairs, and one was even trapped between the jaws of a bear carpet.

"Sorry…" a small, guilty voice whispered shyly behind Do'kir. It was the child again, hands held together sweetly. "Sometimes, I think when I read too much, I forget to put the books back…"

Do'kir tried to scare her off with another deadly glare. The child could feel a wave of fear corroding her fear. She held her ground, however. She shut her eyes tightly and balled her fists.

Grumbling curses under his breath, Do'kir started piling the books into a mountain near the empty shelves. Occasionally, he took a glance at the titles that ranged from Green Eggs and Ham by Archmage Dr. Seues to The Magical Properties of Ancient, Arcane Healing Magic, Muggles, and What Not by Gandalf. Illustrator: Dumbledore. A weird title, that one.

Curious eyes watched in wonder at the large cat who stood on two feet. Never has she seen such a strange, and yet, interesting creature. The child found delight in how flexible his tail swished and curved freely in the air, awe at how beautifully sharp his claws were, and laughter at how his red fur bristled wildly when he accidently dropped a rather quite heavy book on his foot. Her laughter rose when he started hopping around on his good foot, his hands working desperately to ease the pain on his throbbing limb.

Reeling his face, Do'kir hissed violently at the child.

Fear came pouring in and doused her laughter. "Sorry," she mumbled with guilt. Do'kir bared his fangs when the child came up to him; however his caution subsided into curiosity when she held out to him the fallen book.

"Thank… you?" he said, uncertain.

She accepted his praise with a bright smile.

Damn her infectious smile. The Khajiit could feel the ends of his muzzle trying to curve upwards.

She giggled at his awkward smile.

Interest caught her eye in the book in his hands. "Hey, I remember that book. Papa used to read it to me every night before he started working."

The cat felt interested enough to take a glance at the book. He soon wished he hadn't. The mere sight of the book brought sorrow to him. His tail that moved so freely in the air dropped and his ears fell.

Concerned at the tears threatening to overtake the cat's mesmerizing, yellow eyes, the child tugged his shirt and asked, "What's wrong?"

His arms removed his tears, staining his fur. He shook his head.

"But you were crying…" she persisted.

He growled.

He wouldn't be able to scare her off this time, not when he looked so sad. Do'kir almost jumped back when the child gently held his hand. "Please, Kitty, Momma used to tell me it's nice to help people when they're sad."

Do'kir sighed. Already he could feel his will crumble at her pleading eyes. "This Khajiit used to read this same book to his little sister during dark, cold nights…" he caved in in solemn grief.

A smile formed at the fond memories. The Khajiit remembered waking in the middle of the night to discover his sobbing sister at his side. Brotherly instincts immediately kicked in. He beckoned her into his loving hug. She would cry to his chest that she's afraid scary monsters would come into her tent and stuff her down their throats. Do'kir chuckled lightly. His gentle claw cleaned her tears. Once he managed to calm her sobbing into small sniffles, he'd grab the book he's kept safely in his pack. And throughout the cold, dark night, his little sister slept with a pleasant smile as her dreams became the fairy tales her brother read to her that night.

"You have a little sister!" a hopeful cry broke him out of his trance. The Nord child had her hands over her mouth that hardly contained her gasp. The thought of a new friend fueled her excitement. "When do I get to meet her?"

Do'kir growled. He shoved the book into her hands and stormed off upstairs to clean the rest of the rooms. He walked over to his door, but then remembered he actually didn't have much to clean in his room. He moved on and came across another wooden door. He tried to open it. It wouldn't budge.

"Papa wouldn't like you to be in there" the child advised him. She was shivering in fear. "One time, he yelled at me when I stole the key and took it before I can see what's inside."

Do'kir rolled his eyes. He moved on to the next room and nearly lost his balance. This room was twice as worse than the living room!

"Sorry," the child said, kicking the ground shyly. "I sometimes forget to clean my room..."

Gather the vegetables in the garden

Cold shivers ran down on the cat's spine as he read the tattered paper in his shaky hand. Even with the warm sun clearly shining in the cloudless sky, by the twin moons, it's freezing outside! Constantly he had to rub his arms for precious warmth or else he'd risk his fur freezing over.

Something tugged his shirt. He looked down to find the child, proof of her Nord heritage, unshaken by the harsh temperature. "Cold?" the child asked worriedly. He didn't have to nod to answer. "Papa told me its cold here because we live near… near…" Her mind had trouble processing the word. "Near Skyrim!"

Skyrim… Do'kir had heard tales about that place. He recalled hearing about its gruesome, snowy tundra, it's fearsome predators that lurked shrouded by the powerful snow storms, and how even during the summers the homeless suffered frostbite under the cold. It made him wonder how his fellow Khajiit caravans could brave such a perilous land.

Dark graveness slowly dawned upon him. If he's all the way here near Skyrim…

Do'kir quickly shook the thought off. Any more of the thought would only result in extinguishing the little hope he had left. He trudged on towards the garden failing to keep his sanity while the child, skipping happily alongside him, followed.

The garden was laid just besides the house so the cat didn't have to walk far. It was a humble garden, not too big but not too small. Vegetables such as leek, carrots, potatoes, and cabbages awaited to be picked. Do'kir grabbed a nearby basket. Harvesting them shouldn't take too long. As he knelt down to work, he noticed the child had settled herself on the wooden fence, kicking her legs back and forth as if on a swing. He tried to make her existence naught, but it proved to be a difficult task to simply ignore all her constant rambling. She was like a mini Sheogorath. She persisted with question like, "Where're you from?" and "What's your favorite color?" but what most triggered him was "What's your sister like?"

Stupid… loud… annoying… his thoughts raged as vegetables were torn from the soil and tossed into the basket. Obnoxious…brat who doesn't GET A CLUE WHEN TO LEAEVE DO'KIR ALONE… A sigh quelled his anger. Even if his sister was all those things, he still loved her all the same.

It wasn't long for the cat to notice he had cleaned the garden of vegetables. Being angry really seemed to pass the time. He took another look at the list.

Feed the horse

Horse… the word had a glimmer of hope to it. With heightening spirits, he rushed off to the stables while the curious child barely kept up. The stable he came across was designed for two horses. Though one spot remained empty, Do'kir smiled gleefully at the mare. She wore a pelt almost that of golden brown and a beautiful, long, pure white mane that would draw any customer to persuade this horse their first pick. Not only was she a gem to bask at, she clearly had a strong, powerful body that could no doubt tow an entire wagon of merchandise weighing a ton.

Do'kir's thoughts were accelerating. He could take this horse right now. He could pet it. He could call it names. He could ride it off towards the sunset for all he cares. All the cat knew was that this horse is his one chance to find his sister.

Before he can do any of that, Do'kir decided he must get the horse to trust him enough to at least let him get near. He grabbed a handful of hay nearby and carefully made his way to the mare. She snorted and bucked aggressively at his presence. The Khajiit maintained both his breathing and heartbeat to a steady rhythm. Showing fear to this horse would definitely be the wrong move. It wasn't long before the horse gave up trying to scare the cat off. Her cautious eyes became curious while she awaited for the cat's next move.

He held out the hay. The horse sniffed the food on his hand, testing its authenticity. After deciding this is, after all, delicious hay, the horse didn't waste another second gobbling it all down. Do'kir laughed. It tickled to have something eat from his hand. He stroked the soft, velvety pelt on her neck and she neighed happily in appreciation.

The peace wouldn't last long, sadly, when the child decided high time to squeal to her utmost delight, "You get to feed and pet Epona? Epona never lets me feed and pet her!"

Both Epona and Do'kir glowered at the Nord child. She ran up to them, innocently ignorant of their gazes. The child attempted to reach out with her small hands to stroke the horse's neck; however, Epona, alerted to the imminent danger the child posed, swiftly rose high in the air and kicked wildly her front legs. Do'kir noticed the child was nowhere near frightened, surprisingly, but he did notice how… disappointed she was. He witnessed the cheeriness fade from her crestfallen eyes.

"Why does Epona hate me?" the child whimpered. "I just wanna be friends with her like you, Kitty…"

Pity overcame the cat. Even if she did call him that damn name again. He knelt down to place a comforting hand on her shoulder. She turned to him.

"I'm not crying…" she mumbled.

Do'kir nodded in understanding. He hooked an arm around her waist and lifted her into the air, cradling her in his arms. A question formed in the eyes she stared at him with. Do'kir answered by handing her some hay.

"You want me to feed her?" she asked.

He nodded.

Her hand clutched the hay she held. "But… she hates me…"

He shook his head.

Epona didn't hate her. She was just afraid of her. And he couldn't blame her.

Gently, Do'kir moved her hand towards the horse. Epona gazed cautiously at the child. Just what was she planning this time? Another surprise attack? But then she set her sights upon the scrumptious hay resting on the child's hand.

Do'kir's smile beamed happily as the sound of the horse's hooves slowly clattered to them. Though hesitance slowed the horse's steps, the hay gradually lulled Epona closer.

"It tickles!" the child giggled as Epona greedily consumed the hay on her hand. Do'kir chuckled in agreement. He gently grasped her wrist again and placed it mere inches away from the horse's soft pelt.

"You want me to pet her?" she asked in unbelief.

He nodded.

"Ok…"

Her hand steadily approached the pelt on Epona's neck. The moment she came in contact of something soft and warm, she immediately pulled back expecting a painful bite. She stared at her hand, amazed she still retained all her fingers. She looked at the cat for an answer.

Do'kir urged her on with a smile.

The child was about to unleash all her joy through a squeal, but Do'kir intercepted with a claw to her lips. He can't have her scaring off the horse now. She nodded and resumed stroking Epona's neck, a barely contained smile plastered onto her face.

If this horse was going to go anywhere, it needs to be first fed. Do'kir set the child down and Epona lowered her head so that the child could continue her pleasant stroking. Heaving a stack of hay onto his shoulder, the cat dumped it in Epona's stall.

Epona's attention became fixated to the delicious amount of hay in her stall. She removed herself from the Nord's stroking and trotted towards the hay "Aww…" the child grieved.

It shouldn't take long for the horse to finish eating. She should be done by the time he finished his next chore. He looked at the list in his claws. To his surprise, there was no other chore on the list. While that is probably a good thing, what he is suppose to do to pass the time?

A foul smell wafted into Do'kir's nose. He lifted an arm and sniffed.

By the twin moons, he stank! It's like if someone dumped him into a barrel full of rotting fish under the hot sun for days before that someone kicked that barrel into a sea of rotting of fish. He needed a shower. Fast.

Quickly he abandoned the stables, trudging aimlessly around the house. Where could a cat take a bath here? Surely, a place as isolated as this should have some water nearby. But where? Do'kir halted his movements when he reached behind the house. Faint, rushing water perked his ears. His eyes followed it to the source. Almost hidden by the forest life lied a path. He ventured closer, the crashing of water growing, but never made a move to step in it. He gazed deep into it. Rays of sunlight pierced into the shadow of the trees. Past that lied a suspicious, giant, green bush that no doubt something hid beyond it. Do'kir walked down the path, enjoying pleasantly the nature surrounding him. Birds let out their song and the leaves rattled by the breeze granted a good sense of serenity to him. Squirrels, raccoons, and deer ran from his presence, but, to the few who were curious enough, remained to watch him walk by. Before he knew it, he had reached the giant shrub of a bush. Water roared its loudest where he stood. Taking in a deep breath of the forest's fresh air, he took a step.

Traveling with a Khajiit caravan since birth, Do'kir has no doubt seen many wonders of Tamriel. He's seen shrines made of the finest materials and decorated with the finest of gems, statues built to be so high and mighty so that they'd no doubt last for the ages, and mountains that reached the very skies of Nirin. While what he came across did not nearly rival those wonders, it still radiated more than enough beauty to steal his breath away. No trees existed to block off the sun's golden light. Water cascaded down a serene waterfall and into a pool of tranquility where a small creek carried the clear liquid deeper into the forest.

Do'kir's clothes were almost flown out from his now nude body as he dived into the pool. The ripples calmed and nothing surfaced for a while, until finally, his head broke through the water to take a deep breath of much needed air. Already, he could feel the grime and sweat be cleansed from his body. He laid back against cool, calm water and simply just float there, basking in the sun's rays.

Suddenly, his ears twitched.

Splashing into a fighting stance, he glared at the bush that had just ceased its rustling. His expression softened, however, when noticed a bar of soap at the foot of the pool. The Khajiit looked to his left, then looked to his right, expecting to find someone, or at least something, breathing. Strangely, there was nothing, nothing but that bar of soap.

Weird.

But hey, free soap! Do'kir treaded across the water and grasped the soap bar. Its sweet fragrance tickled his nose. He treaded across to the other end of the pool where the water flowed down elegantly between slated cliffs. The water cascading around his body felt like a refreshing massage. Humming a song, he worked on scrubbing off the persistent muck stuck to his pelt with the soap. His fur is going to be shining after this.

Later, Do'kir stepped out of the pool, water dripping from his soaked fur. He prepared to lye down on the grass to bathe and dry off under the warm sun, but an alarming question rang in his mind.

Where are his clothes?

Thank the Divines his loincloth remained in the same spot he left it, but the rest seemed to have simply vanished.

His ears caught another rustle not far off, but his eyes failed to catch the culprit on time. He sighed. Perhaps it was just some wildlife taking an interest at the cat.

And speaking of interest, Do'kir discovered a set of new clothes folded neatly at his feat complete with a towel. First the soap, and now clothes and a towel? Convenient, but strange. Where was all this stuff coming from?

Do'kir closed his eyes and focused everything in his sense of hearing. If he willed his hearing past the waterfall and the flowing creek, he could make out a soft voice letting out a cheerful hum. He opened his eyes and found himself starting at rock. Whatever was humming he would discover just behind that rock. Taking great care to conceal his presence, his head peeped over the rock.

He had to clamp his mouth shut or he'd risk discovery. It was the Nord child humming while oblivious to his existence. She dipped her quill into the bottled ink she sat close by and proceeded to work on the drawing she laid out against her knees. Do'kir stretched his neck to get a better view at her drawing. His chuckle almost unveiled his position. Turns out her drawing was a drawing of him if he were made out triangles and circles! While he did find a good laugh at her picture, he wasn't that fat, was he? At least she got his whiskers right.

The child soon noticed a cat-like shadow being casted over her drawing. "Kitty!" she squealed as she looked up to find the wide-eyed cat.

He held up the new clothes, still folded neatly, to her. "Oh yeah! Those are for you. When Papa said he's brining someone to live with us, I asked him if he could take me to the market to buy you new clothes. I already threw away your icky clothes, but I have more if you don't like your new ones."

Do'kir shook his head and assured her through his smile. Quickly, he put them on. The green shirt had fit him comfortable and snug. And the pants along with the manmade tail-hole his flexible appendage poked through couldn't be anymore perfect for his size.

Cleaned fur and snug, new clothes? He felt like a new Khajiit!

The child rock-climbed to the top and covered her gasp. He looked so handsome in his new garbs that anybody, whether they're racist bastards or not, would find themselves admiring his glossy, red fur. "You look great!" she cheered.

Do'kir laughed. He couldn't describe just how grateful he was to her, so he conveyed it all with a big hug. The child giggled alongside him as he carried her out of the woods and onto the open fields. He sat down, with her still safely secured in his warm arms, and laid back against the bed of grass, sighing contently. A good shower always left him tired.

A deep growl from the pit of his stomach knocked him back awake.

And apparently, hungry as well.

Of course, there were some vegetables gathered in a basket at the garden, but Momma raised no vegetarian. He carefully removed the child from his hold before sitting up, scanning the trees until… aha! A good old apple tree with red gems shining in its branches just waiting near the forest. He ran to the tree at a full sprint then snatched from the branch the apple that had the most satisfying shade of red. He took a bite and reveled in its sweet, crunchy, juiciness that flowed in his mouth.

Do'kir noticed the child was suddenly next to him, hopping endlessly for the red fruit her short arms could never hope to reach. Feeling generous enough he picked the apple and held it out to her on level she could reach. He chuckled at how she gasped in amazement over how tall he had to be to achieve the feat. The cat's cheeks burned a blush when she hugged him.

He stepped out of the tree's shadow and sat over to the sunlight, motioning for the child to take a seat next to him. She gladly accepted his offer, but rather than taking the seat next to him, she chose the comfortable seat of his lap. Do'kir didn't mind. Having something so small and cute on his lap actually felt comfortable. He allowed her to rest against his chest. Sighing contently he leaned back, resting his elbows against the grass and sent his legs out for a much needed stretch.

Do'kir couldn't believe he was actually enjoying himself. He could feel himself sinking blissfully under the warm light that melted away the cold. A soft breeze swept across the grass and brushed lightly his gleaming fur.

Being a slave isn't bad after all, or at least, a slave to this small family of two anyways. Here he's fed, given new clothes, and the chores aren't so bad. And the child on his lap wasn't so bad either, if you managed to tolerate her at least. Maybe he could… stay here?

Do'kir found himself surprised he even thought of it. But then of course, he wouldn't stay here forever. Finding his sister is still his top priority. He'll just have to tolerate this place for a few days gathering and hiding the supplies for the secret trip. Then, once the Nord man leaves, he'll take Epona away and search the entire world for his sister if he has to. No matter how long or how gruesome the ordeal may be, he's absolutely confident he'll find her.

But a question kept nagging him from the back of his mind.

What about the child?

Anybody with a sense of a good mind knows its never a good idea to leave a child alone. Do'kir recalled an unpleasant memory when he caught his sister standing on a chair, gazing curiously at the dagger she snatched from the table and pointed directly at her face. Do'kir immediately swiped the dagger from her claws and scolded her, demanding why she had come so close in poking her own eye out. She answered innocently that because it was so shiny she wanted to play with it.

The Nord child may not be his sister, but he dared to say he cared about her all the same.

Do'kir relaxed his eyes, hoping that'd help him in this mental struggle, but he quickly awakened to the child practically tugging at his fur for attention.

"Kitty, look what I drew!"

The cat groaned. That accursed name is a jab to his pride, but he sucked it in and accepted the parchment.

At first, Do'kir couldn't fathom why the child was jumping so excitedly for him take a look. It was the same old drawing of him smiling at his real self, and yet, this time he noticed he was holding something. His hand held the hand of a stick-figured child who wore the dress of a triangle and had a flower embedded in her long hair. Together, they beamed their smiles at Do'kir, warming his heart.

"Do you like it?" Do'kir's eyes shifted to the child. She had her puny hands balled into a fist over her lips and her eyes were wide and trapped in suspense as she awaited for his verdict.

Do'kir responded with a hearty smile and nodded.

The child broke into happy cheers and made a hug for his neck. Do'kir chuckled, patting her back. He could feel her nuzzling her face against the cozy fur of his neck. And it was a nice feeling. Like a pleasant brush to his fur. "Thanks. I did my best drawing you, me, and your sister!"

Sister?

Do'kir halted his patting to pull her back, questioning the child with his confused stare.

The cat had embedded some confusion to her. "You didn't see? I even put a flower on her too to make her even more prettier."

Do'kir took another look at the parchment. It was still him and the child, but he noticed the hand that held the parchment was covering something. He switched the task of holding the parchment to the other hand. That's when he saw her.

The child witnessed the happiness fade from his eyes. Tears threatened to fall. Concerned, the child placed a hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong?"

She didn't get the response she was expecting. Roughly she was shoved off his lap and crashed headfirst into the grass. A buzzing pain rang in her head as she struggled to rise from the ground. Once her vision cleared, she noticed her friend had his back turned on her as he walked away, the parchment still clung in his claws.

"Kitty!" she called to him.

Do'kir immediately halted in his step and turned his head towards her.

Fear overcame the child and froze her breaths. She couldn't believe how… emotionless he was to her; however, it seems just looking at her had triggered his anger. He glared and bared his sharp fangs at the child. Without giving a second thought he tore up her drawing and crushed it into a crumpled ball, tossing it carelessly over to the ground she laid on. He watched as the child shattered into tears, but he couldn't care less. Was he really about to replace his own sister with this… this… brat?

Having enough of her crying, Do'kir ran to the stables. Epona had just finished her hay and stared at the cat, confused. His face roared of anger, and yet his eyes leaked sadness.

Do'kir couldn't help but grin at the Nord man's stupidity as he lifted a saddle from the ground. Did the Nord really not think his slave wouldn't escape, that the cat would not take the horse he was a fool to leave behind? Typical Nords. All brawn but no brains.

He walked over to Epona. Finally, he was going to leave! He's going to escape this hell and find his sister! First he'll saddle up, ride Epona out this stable, and head to… to…

Do'kir froze to think. Where was he going to go?

It finally dawned upon the cat. The Nord knew this was going to happen! The Nord knew he'll try to escape with Epona . He knew he'll stop to think where to go. And he knew he'll realize he had no idea where to go. If Do'kir was dragged all the way to the borders near Skyrim, imagine just where in Tamriel his sister was dragged off to.

Hopelessness relinquished him of anger and sadness. The saddle fell from his grasp and onto the floor. There was no point in escaping.

Then a new feeling came to him. It ate away at his soul and urged him to bang his head against the wall to repent.

Regret.

Do'kir dashed out the stables and back to the open grass. He almost missed it, but among the tall grass he spotted the child curled up to a pathetic ball, clutching the ruined parchment in her hand. The wind carried to him her sniffles that brought shame over his actions. Just what exactly did she do to deserve this? After all she's done for him? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Summing up his courage through a deep breath, he walked towards the child.

The child took notice of his approach and looked up, then, remembering the crumpled ball in her hand, shut her eyes. She thought she didn't deserve to look at him or even consider him a friend. She thought must've done something bad to deserve his hatred.

Sighing, Do'kir crouched closer to her. "This one is sorry…"

A sudden wind blew across the land and swept over the silence between the two.

He waited for a response. She remained ever so silent and still curled into a ball.

Do'kir realized it's going to take more than a stupid sorry to make up for what he's done. "Please," he begged. "At least look at this foolish Khajiit."

She didn't listen Instead, she clamped her eyes so tight that it hurt just to see her strain herself so much to do it. He tried nudging her shoulder, but she quickly shrugged it off.

"Go away…" she mumbled.

Frustration raged within Do'kir and his eyes glared at the child. He clenched a fist and slammed it against the ground. Have the Divines cursed him or something? First he loses his entire family, and now he has to deal with this?

The child jerked suddenly. It's like something had just punched the ground. Her head rose from the grass stained from her tears to see Do'kir glaring menace at her, clenching his sharp fangs and… crying.

Why…? Was the question that played over and over again in his mind. Why why why WHY?! Damn his life! Why did he have to lose everything? Why did he have to lose his sweet, innocent sister to those monsters? Frustration, anger, sadness, regret, and hopelessness all swirled into a raging storm within him, tearing him apart from the inside.. He fell to his knees and his arms struggled to support him. He wanted to tear apart the grass, crush the ground, and roar out all his rage, but most of all, he wanted his life back. He wanted his family back. He wanted his sister back. He wanted his sister to run up to him and hug him.

Tears leaking to the grass below, his head rose to meet the child. Her hand was clutching the parchment just above her heart as she stared at him with pitied eyes. An idea popped in his head. Not wasting another second, he lunged for the child.

The child had no time to react. She felt his arms encase her into a secure hold and he pressed his head on her shoulder. She prepared to struggle out of his hold with all the might her little body had to offer, but stopped. He was still crying, and she soon realized that he wasn't trying to crush her to death or anything: he was hugging her.

Do'kir knew this was probably the worst idea he's come up yet, though he couldn't care less. He wanted, no, NEEDED someone to comfort him, someone to assure him everything's going to be all right. Just like what his sister always did.

Do'kir felt two small arms wrap around him and a soothing hand stroked his back. He purred in appreciation as the storm inside him calmed. His droopy eyes flickered as they struggled to stay open. He was drained, emotionally and physically. And the petting on his back only lulled him closer to blissful slumber.

He began to rock forward and the child couldn't hold off his heavy body for long. With the child still secured protectively in his arms, he fell to the grass, snoring along the entire trip.

The wind was knocked out of the child. She would've struggled if she hadn't noticed how peaceful Do'kir slept as he held her tighter in his cozy hug. Smiling, she scratched his ears. Still slumbering, Do'kir returned her affection by nuzzling the soft fur of his head against the soft face, purring.

She giggled. His whiskers still tickled. She continued scratching the cat's ears perky ears. His fur felt so warm and cozy and his purring sounded so nice that she felt her own eyes drooping all from it. The hand on his head thudded to the ground. Images of lazy clouds floating across the open, blue sky flickered in her eyes. Finally, she followed sleep's beckoning call and shared her dreams with the snoozing cat.

Do'kir tossed his body around in his bed. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't quite find the perfect position he'd be satisfied with. Not even hugging his pillow helped. Sighing his defeat, he gave up on the ordeal and ended up facing the moonlight that shone through the window.

A few hours had already passed since he finished making the child and him a decent dinner. He wasn't the best cook in the world, only living off from experience he gained about cooking on the road, but managed to make something that'll keep their stomachs full for the night.

The moon had risen to its highest, and yet the Nord man still had not come home.

It felt weird to worry for the man who bought you as a slave and currently keeping you prisoner in his own home, but he is that child's father. And he wouldn't want her to feel the pain of losing a family.

But he had more dire thoughts to think about.

His own family.

Do'kir knew his father and mother are still alive. He could just feel it. He recalled a memory where as if an entire bandit camp decided raid their carriage of valuable. They were a small caravan. Easy pickings for bandits. Both his parents told him and his sister to stay behind them and close their eyes. Minutes later, the siblings found themselves with their parents making a swift escape on the horse with half of the bandit horde dead behind them.

They're not just some street cats that can be killed so easily. They're still alive. They're just… out there somewhere.

But his sister was another matter.

She's too young, too sweet and innocent to fight. The only fights she's been in was when she tried catching her elusive tail. She probably doesn't even know that she has claws that she can use to protect herself.

His thoughts were piling up in his mind. Do'kir started tossing and turning in his bed once again. Turning away from the light, he gripped his head, crushing it. He couldn't stop it. He saw K'ara lying in a pool of her own blood that stained her fur, beaten for amusement. Her sick voice croaked, praying desperately for her brother to help her, to save her from this hell. Then the door to her dark cell creaked open as her head rose from the bloodied floor to see her captor shrouded in the darkness, his sadistic smile widening in the void.

"Kitty?" a sweet voice whispered in the darkness.

Do'kir opened his eyes to find the child standing in front of his bed, holding something in her hands. She was just about ready to burst into tears.

"I can't sleep," she whimpered. "I'm too scared. Can I sleep with you?"

Do'kir chuckled. She's too cute to resist. The cat lifted the covers and watched her snuggle promptly to his shirtless body, clutching his fur. He draped the blanket and an arm over her. A small yelp left her when Do'kir lifted her from one side of the bed to the other. She calmed when she noticed how beautiful the moon was that shined on her.

The child looked up at Do'kir with pleading eyes. "Can you read me a bedtime story?" she asked sweetly, holding up a familiar book.

Do'kir smiled. He took the book from her hands and opened it.

The moon provided the perfect light for his sharp vision to read. Throughout the night, the sweet child in protected in his arms smiled as her dreams became the fairy tales Do'kir read to her.

Do'kir closed the book and set it near the window. Gently, he used a claw to remove the child's fiery bangs so he could gaze in wonder at her. That's when he realized he still had not yet asked for her name. He was about to think more about the subject, but a yawn broke through his thoughts. The child's faint breathing on his fur felt nice, lulling his eyes to close. He was becoming tired.

He held the child deeper to his warm fur, ensuring that no nightmares would dare to attack her, and slept, sharing the same pleasant smile as the child

Reviews are appreciated!


	3. Memorable First Day of School

If there's one thing Do'kir cherished most in this beautiful world, it's his undying love for his innocent sister. Just witnessing one sweet smile of hers can bestow upon him more happiness than what simple gold and jewels could possible bring.

And if there's one thing he absolutely despised in this cruel world, it's his pathetic stamina limit. You could have this cat carry a simple pack of the lightest pieces of dust, then five seconds in you'll notice him fallen on the ground grasping for air. Honestly, his stamina limit is literally comparable to that of an obese tortoise attempting a 1-mile sprint around a pond.

Sure, he's part of a Khajiit caravan that traverses the entire world of Tamriel in search of potential customers. It should be solid fact that Do'kir would have an impressive amount of stamina.

The thing is though, Do'kir is a bit of a lazy cat.

As him and his family would venture the harsh roads, Do'kir preferred to spend most of the trip lazing around inside the carriage, gobbling down the sweets their mother locked away that his sister stole for him to fill his belly with. Only when was he bloated with sweets did he finish the day with a much-needed catnap.

Really, his sister is the reason why this cat doesn't resemble some fat, rich, noble man by now.

"Faster, Brother! Run faster!" a young, red Khajiit sitting on the top of Do'kir shouted at the top of her lungs as she felt the wind rush past her red. The little kitten wore a blue dress that shone as brilliantly as her amber eyes that sparkled with joy.

"As… *huff *huff you wish… *huff little K'ara…" Do'kir croaked out below. Sweat soaked through the older cat's plain tunic and dripped down to the blades of grass that brushed and tickled the soft pads of his barefooted feet. Exhaustion burned his lungs and his legs threatened to crumble right then and there with each step, but his little sister's sweet laughter drove him to trudge on.

K'ara giggled and clapped her little hands. "Now, go faster!"

Do'kir groaned. His sister's constant, almost painful, pats on his head guided him to climb the rising hill up ahead. Every step he struggled to take threatened to shatter his aching legs. At the brink of death did he rise to the top before plunging muzzle-first to the grass below. K'ara giggled sweetly.

His sister's claps were full of delight at the sight of his suffering. "Let's go climb a bigger hill now!"

"Divines have mercy on this Khajiit…" he mumbled into the ground.

And by some miracle, they answered his prayers. Do'kir's ears perked at the sound of rushing water. He rose his head off the grass and his eyes darted to below the hill. Rays of the sun gave the rushing river a golden glimmer. Do'kir gazed up to his sister. "K'ara, how about I- I mean…we take a break near the river?

K'ara placed a claw under her chin, thinking about the idea. Do'kir prayed for another miracle to Divines as he stopped and gathered as much oxygen into his lungs as he could. Finally, she looked back down to his brother and beamed him a smile. "Ok, Brother! This Khajiit would like to take a break near the river."

"Thank the Divines…" he croaked one last time. He rose and half-ran-half-staggered to the river.

It was a shaky landing, but his last sliver of strength was enough to gradually guide himself to rest on a knee so that his sister hopped off his shoulders. She took a few moments taking in the all the surrounding beauty into her innocent, sweet little eyes while she gazed around for a spot to rest. She sojourned at the river's border.

Do'kir found his spot in a less graceful fashion. The moment Do'kir felt his sister's presence gone from his shoulders, he immediately fell flat once again on his muzzle. It was a painful impact, but hardly comparable to the blistering agony that ate away at his legs. There might as well be a damn troll having a feast on his lower half.

Mustering whatever will power he had left, Do'kir hoisted himself up to his elbows and dragged his body to the river that taunted him with its shining allure. He shared gazes with his reflection, the other him's haggard breathing perfectly in sync with his, before dunking his entire head beneath the water's surface. He remained in that position for a while, gulping down precious water almost as if he was breathing it. The cat clung to that position, his lungs burning from the lack of air. At the last stretch of consciousness, his head burst back up through the surface.

He wiped an arm over his wet muzzle and let out satisfied sigh. "All right, K'ara, this one thinks we should head back before Mother scolds our ears off again."

Empty silence was the returned response.

Do'kir looked over his shoulder. "K'ara?" he called.

His eyes set upon a nearby spot where multiple blades of grass had bowed; a clear sign at least something sat there.

"K'ara?" he called again.

A cold, ominous wind answered him, sweeping across the land and brushed against the cat. It robbed him of the sun's warmth and left him shivering to the bone.

Do'kir stood up and trekked back up the hill. "K'ara, if this is another of your pranks, Khajiit does not find your prank funny."

He reached the hill's top and gaped.

It's like for every blade of grass that once blanketed the land below him, a 100 towering trees grew to usurp the Earth. He could not witness its end as they stretched without limit from the left and right. He couldn't even catch a glimpse past the forest for its dark towers' overwhelming height that concealed what lied beyond.

Stumbling down the hill, warily did Do'kir approach the forest until he stood face to face. The towering trees had blocked out the sun's light, thus creating a barrier of pure, dark shadow that Do'kir, despite his sharp eyes, could not pierce through. A tentative hand reached for the forest, disappearing, covered in shadow. In mere moments, his face contorted into a mixture of horror and disgust as he pulled his arm out from the shadows. He stared at his arm as he held it. It felt numb and shook uncontrollably with dread. Whether it be his imagination or not, there was no doubt there were insidious forces lurking within the woods, watching and waiting within darkness in hopes Do'kir will be foolish enough to wander into their domain.

"NOPE," Do'kir whistled to himself as he turned and walked off. "Khajiit definitely is not going in there."

K'ara may be little, but Do'kir firmly believed she wouldn't be foolish enough to wander into the dark woods like some stray cat. Their mother tends to be very ruthless when it comes to teaching her children lessons. Like how to find your way back to the caravan if you're lost or how to effectively escape pursuit of a troll or how one can literally avoid any danger by turning around and walking off to the opposite direction.

And Do'kir would've happily followed his mother's teaching, if only it weren't for the gurgled cries of his sister screaming deeper within the woods.

There were no thoughts, only instinct as Do'kir turned and rushed into the woods without hesitation. Darkness blinded his vision before he burst through some bushes and into a small clearing. His eyes had barely adjusted to the dark and only gave him outlines of his surroundings. The trees had ensured that no light will enter the forest. He'll need to rely solely on his hearing if he's going to find his sister. He took a deep breath, raised his head, and waited.

With every sound his ears twitched, the croaking of animals and bristling of forest leaves from the faint wind, he strained himself to dig through those sounds and locate for any intimations K'ara's location.

His ears perked at a new sound nearly hidden within the woods: sobbing.

Dread consumed the hope he held in his heart. He took a step towards the sobbing, but at that moment the forest's malice had seized him. Do'kir crumbled to his knees, an awful sickness burning inside him, one hand grasping over his stomach and the other forcing his muzzle shut for a hopeless attempt to hold in his urge to vomit out his insides.

Fear shook him to the very core of his soul. He looked up to stare within the surrounding void. Shadows skulked within the darkness, their cold gazes burning into Do'kir.

Do'kir struggled through their paralyzing gazes and stood, charging further into the darkness. His path was heavy with vegetation. Branches whipped and carved into his fur and thorns clawed at his body. Ghostly specters stalked him like a predator would before diving in for the kill. With claws of spectral shadow, they tore into his mind, corrupting it with flooded visions of K'ara's lifeless body, battered and abused, drenched in the pool of her own blood.

"NO!" he cried as he stumbled and collapsed to his knees. He gripped his head, his claws digging deeply and drawing blood. Desperation nearly drove him to tear open his own head and rip out these horrid visions from his mind.

But Do'kir persevered with unwavering fortitude in his eyes. He's going to find K'ara and get her out of these damn woods no matter what! Determination fueling the fire in his heart, he charged forward deeper into the void.

Thunder crackled the sky. What began as a soft drizzle soon swelled to a heavy downpour that bludgeoned relentlessly onto Do'kir's body. The pelting rain nearly drowned out K'ara's sobbing. The forest soil beneath him deformed into a thick slosh of mud. It gripped and pulled and swallowed at Do'kir's every step as if the forest floor itself a hellish gate to Oblivion that the brown ooze tried to drag him through. And so often the forest succeeded, the cat falling with a heavy splash, sullying his once soft, red pelt further with sludge. Do'kir had to cough out the mud lodged deep in his throat before he could call out her name.

"K'ara!" he shouted against the pelting rain. "K'ara!... K'ARA!"

He reached another clearing. A cabin stood in the middle.

Lightning crackled, thunder bellowed, winds howled, trees rattled, and rain shattered around him. It was almost… haunting to see this cabin so still and detached amidst all this chaos.

He trekked through the mud-sullen ground towards the cabin and his wearied body slumped against its door. He stayed there for a few moments, gasping for air. He reached for the door handle. It failed to budge.

Locked.

"DAMMIT!"

K'ara's cries were so close that he could feel her terror and pain gripping and pulling at his fur, begging for him to save her. Anger and frustration boiled to new heights and he rammed his shoulder against the door. Never was he relenting his assault until it finally broke open with a sharp snap of wood. He stumbled inside, hands and knees falling to a cold, wooden floor.

K'ara's cries had ceased.

The door behind him creaked and it closed with a heavy slam The sound of the pelting rain became muffled. Water and sludge dripped from his dirtied fur. Mud had seeped deeply into his eyes and pain encroached them when he barely managed to open them to a small squint. Do'kir gazed at his surroundings. With the pitch-black clouds shrouding the land, there wasn't the faintest of light, leaving the cabin in empty darkness. Do'kir swallowed his fear and stood back up to wobbly legs. Slowly he trudged forward towards the black emptiness. He outstretched his arms to feel for any object likely hidden in this darkness that may obstruct his path. The cat thought himself lucky he hadn't stub his toe yet.

Aimlessly Do'kir wandered in the black emptiness. He strained his ears to pick up any whisper of K'ara. Ominous silence was all he could hear. The air around him was heavy, almost suffocating and it fed to the unease growing at the pit of his stomach. Shadows would shift in the darkness as if a silent, terrible beast lurked near. Invisible fangs would sink into him and inject paralyzing fear into the cat, coursing through his veins like poison and turned his blood to ice. The fear inside him was so overwhelming that Do'kir was just desperate to break down and cry like the pathetic kitten he is. The whimpering cat needed a while to muster what little courage he had left before he could move on. Fear twisted Do'kir's sense of time. What were a few minutes of trekking through this darkness became unbearable hours of wandering in this awful, black emptiness. He could feel his sanity corroding further with each feeble step he barely had enough courage to take.

He may not have been able to see it, but Do'kir could sense the changes to his surroundings. The muffled, pelting rain outside became echoes, then became whispers, then became nothing. He felt rough, wooden floor beneath gradually altered to stone that was as cold as ice. A crushing sensation suddenly gripped Do'kir, choking the air out from his lungs. Darkness condensed around him, contorting into an impossibly narrow corridor with walls that ever so slowly closed in on him crushing him with increasing pressure. His heart thrashed uncontrollably, breathing accelerated to dangerous speeds. His mind and movements were reduced to mush and he could feel his consciousness ebbing away into nothingness.

Khajiit needed air!

Khajiit needed light!

Khajiit needed freedom!

Then out of nowhere behind him came a sound, the loud sound of metal clanging against stone. Its sound was so powerful that it ripped apart his hearing, and so dangerously close that his instincts screamed. Do'kir rushed to a full sprint.

Khajiit needed to run!

In the distance Do'kir spotted a torch illuminating the stone wall it was attached too. Its light was like a small candle in this endless abyss, but having light grace his eyes after wandering for so long in darkness he felt hope surge forth and grant his feeble legs one last spurt of energy towards the light.

Whether it was the shadows concealing it or the hope too bright in his eyes, Do'kir's foot hit something solid. The world tumbled forward. Do'kir's body went limp as it slid across the stone floor.

Do'kir raised himself to his knees. A shaky groan escaped his lips. Pain muddled thoughts. Vision was rattled. Do'kir lifted a trembling hand to brush against his arm. At the moment of contact, pain burst aflame. Seething he drew back his hand and the burning subsided to a small buzz. He did it again, more tender to his touch this time. He hissed and recoiled again in pain. He must've scraped and peeled off both fur and skin during that graceful slide of his, leaving a red sheen of exposed flesh on his arms. Even the slight brush of cold air stung like needles.

Do'kir observed his surroundings. There was the faint warmth of the torch behind him. Its light was far too distant to dispel the darkness in front of him, but close enough to cast the shadows of iron bars across the cat's back.

Realization struck the cat. His body tensed and his breathing came to a halt. The stale, musty air that choked his lungs… the stone walls that were as cold as ice… and the iron bars whose shadows loomed over him…

Khajiit was trapped in a dungeon!

Panic swelled within him and he quickly pushed himself back to two feet. He turned around, relieved seeing the cell door had not closed, and he prepared to sprint back the way he came.

"Brother… please… don't leave Khajiit here…"

A chill shot through Do'kir's spine. That voice… it sounded so familiar yet almost unrecognizable from how broken and desperate it was. He turned around to face the shadows in front of him. The harder he focused, the more he could make out an outline of a figure within. It sat on the stone floor, back against the stone wall, curled up and hugging the knees that its head bowed close to.

Taking the chance, Do'kir called out a name. "K'ara?"

He feared it would somehow sink further into the shadows like a specter, but then it raised its head to give him a stoic gaze with its dull, amber eyes.

"K'ara!" the brother shouted in a voice buckling from overflowing relief. He wanted to collapse to her and cry to her the joy he felt bubbling inside, but now was not the time. He took a step closer to her and knelt down, placing both hands on her shoulders. "Quickly now, let's-"

"Brother, where are you?"

Her question had stunned him with confusion. "What are you talking about, Little One? Do'kir is right here."

Her emotionless gaze spoke her silent response.

He let out a half-hearted chuckle, throwing her question out as part of some sort of poorly timed prank. "K'ara…" he began in a soft, comforting tone. "Do'kir is here. And he is here to save-"

A flash of anger ignited in K'ara's amber eyes and she screamed back, "No you're not!"

It's as if her outburst had triggered the torch behind him, intensifying the flames and, for a brief moment, washed away the shadows that covered her.

His eyes had frozen in place. He struggled to believe at the sight before him. K'ara's frame had always been so small and frail that the tiniest bit of harm would shatter her delicate form. That's why seeing her so bruised and beaten and her once soft pelt be matted in so much dried blood… he wanted to fill the dungeon with his roar and break the stone walls with his rage. Her ears were torn off as if some sick bastard took delight in ripping them like they were paper. No longer did they curve to end in a single point, but in crude jagged ends. And her face… Divines why… her once round and plush and innocent face had been deformed beyond recognition as if someone had bludgeoned it relentlessly with a hammer.

The torch's fire calmed and the shadows shrouded K'ara's desecrated form once again until her emotionless gaze remained. Finally she spoke again, "K'ara cries for so long… She cries for Daddy and Mommy and Brother to save her… but no one comes. K'ara is so cold… so scared…" Her voice broke apart and tears swelled under her amber orbs. Dhe demanded with a cry, "Where is Do'kir? Why won't Brother save K'ara?!"

Do'kir prepared to let out a torrent of emotions flood out, but a calloused hand gripped the scruff of his neck and, with a painful pull that nearly ripped off his skin, launched him back. Do'kir watched helplessly as the world sailed past him. He crashed against the cell's iron bars. Pain racked his entire body before he slumped motionless on the stone floor. He raised his head to see his attacker but only caught the glint of a metal weapon before it bashed against his skull.

…

…

Vision. Darkness. Thoughts. Scattered. Ears. Ringing. Skull. Cracked. Body. Twitching. Pain. Couldn't feel. Numb. Bad. On head. Liquid. Warm. Oozing. Red puddle. Spreading. Eyes flickered. Met amber. Gazed back. Scared. Do'kir. Forgive. Please.

"Brother… I'm scared…"

Above. Metal raised. Came down.

Khajiit. Dead.

Do'kir woke up in an explosive start with eyes bulging out and heart thrashing abou. His accelerated breathing was hoarse and haggard and his sharp claws clung to the bottom of his seat. Every strand of fur that coated him was standing on end and on the verge of breaking off his body any moment now. His eyes darted across the room in frantic panic, half expecting a horror pulled from the depths of Oblivion hanging from the wooden ceiling or, at least, a troll in the closet. But all he came across was a window leading to a quiet forest shrouded by night below, an open book sitting on his lap, and a little Nord snoozing in her bed.

It's like his thoughts that ran wild in his mind all just stopped to focus her. Her small smile brought such peace to the cat that his breathing began to settle to calm and even breaths and his heart relaxed to a steady beat. His bristled fur settled down and his claws unhooked themselves from the chair. Do'kir leaned back, breathing out a deep sigh.

And he closed his eyes.

Do'kir was slumped on his bed, hugging tight his pillow as his gaze stared off through the window and into the light of the twin moons that hung high over the horizons. Tonight, they took the form of two beautiful, bows, one made of silver and the other painted with a light crimson, that aimed high for the heavens above.

But all that light and scenery was nothing more than an ugly blur in Do'kir's dull eyes. His thoughts were trapped in a rotting cage, tortured by fear and worry for his lost sister. How long has it been since he was trapped here? A week? A month? Perhaps even a year? Time had slipped through his claws.

Then the Do'kir's pointy ears twitched when they caught the sound of his door creaking open.

Judging by those small and light footsteps, it must be her. Do'kir rolled his body to face the other side, and he smiled.

Standing there in his brightening gaze was a small Nord clutching a book with both hands close to her chest. Under the moonlight that shone through his window, her fair skin gave off a modest glow and the innocence in her eyes sparkled.

"Kitty, I'm too scared to sleep," she whimpered almost too cutely for the cat's heart to handle. "Can you read me a bedtime story again?"

Do'kir chuckled. At this point he lost track of the number of times he had to soothe her asleep with a bedtime story. He raised himself from bed, yawning and stretching out his limbs.

She outstretched her arms to offer the book to him and he accepted it, tucking it in one arm. He offered her his hand to hold, which she took eagerly as they stepped into the darkness outside his room.

Do'kir's sharp eyes made it an easy stroll to her room, but it didn't make it a painless trip. It's amazing how much fear can strengthen a child. Since the moment the two entered the darkness, Do'kir could feel the tugging on his arm growing stronger by the second. Do'kir's arm was just about ready to pop off his shoulder by the time they reached her room.

Thankfully, the Divines have answered his prayers. The child that tugged his arm with inhuman strength finally released her hold on him and retreated quickly to her bed, cowering under the covers like a frightened kitten. The cat had to coax her out of there first before he could properly tuck her in.

"Story time now?" the child asked sweetly as her head poked out from under the blanket.

Do'kir grabbed a nearby chair and set it near her to take a seat. "Patience, Little One," he told her as he opened the book on his lap. There was a candle sitting on an end table next to him, its gentle light bright enough for even a drunken troll to read clearly under it.

Do'kir cleared his throat. He started in a soft tone. "Once upon a time… in a magical land filled with the most amazing wonders… there lived three little p-"

"AHHHHHH, but Kitty, you already read me that story before, remember?"

Her sharp whine had cut into Do'kir's focus and threw him off guard. He stared at her. "Really?" he asked.

An angry huff left her pouted lips. "I'm not stupid, Kitty. I already know the mean wolf gets eaten by the three pigs in the end."

"Oh, uh, excuse this one then," he sputtered as he flipped and stumbled through the pages He cleared his throat again, but the uncertainty remained to drag down his voice. "Once upon a time, there lived an ugly little duckling-"

"Who became a werewolf and ate the other mean ducklings who made fun of him," the little Nord finished for him.

The Nord child finished the stories before they could even start. Red Riding Hood and her pet werewolf killed the vampire king, Hansel and Gretel ate the witch after turning her into a sweetroll, and the tortoise won the race by default after secretly poisoning the hare's carrot. Soon Do'kir found himself out of pages to turn. With a sigh he closed the book and set it on the end table. He closed his eyes and placed a clawed under his chin, searching his memories for a story. Even with his vision closed off he could still feel the child's piercing gaze that expected a story out of him. There should at least be one story within his mind that he could tell her. He searched and he searched until finally he remembered an old legend his mother used to tell him about.

He opened his eyes and asked, "Tell Do'kir, Little One, have you ever heard of the Dragonborn?"

He saw the excitement ignite in her eyes. Just the mere name 'Dragonborn' caused her to shake with joy.

She shook her head and his muzzle curved into a smile. "Well, Khajiit has a story for you…"

As the twin moons arced across the skies, the Khajiit told her the tale of the Dragonborn. He told her how the Dragonborn was a being with the body of a mortal but with the soul of a fearsome dragon, that the Dragonborn can speak their ancient language, that the Dragonborn could channel the awesome powers of the dragons with a mere shout, that with that kind of power the Dragonborn could tear down walls, defeat entire armies and even rip apart the skies just with a shout. He told her how the Dragonborn is the greatest hero in all of Tamriel.

"Do you think someday I could meet the Dragonborn?" the child asked with eye brimming with hope.

Do'kir chuckled. According to his mother, there hasn't been another Dragonborn since Tiber Septim, and he died a long time ago. It could take many of her life times before she could ever meet the next Dragonborn. But seeing so much excitement in her eyes, he couldn't help but assure her. "With much enthusiasm like yours, then yes, Khajiit doesn't doubt you will meet the Dragonborn someday."

Her small lips widened to a bright smile. Satisfied with his story she laid back down to her pillow, closed her eyes, and after a few small breaths, fell asleep.

"Good night, Little One…" Do'kir whispered.

He started to get up from his chair, intending to make the trip back to his room, but then a yawn escaped his lips and carried away the little energy he had left. Do'kir slumped back on his chair. He didn't need to leave right away. He could just rest here for a while. Not sleep of course. Just rest his eyes, yeah that's the term. Just rest Khajiit's tired eyes before…

Five seconds of resting his eyes, Do'kir was snoring in his chair.

Do'kir's eyes fluttered open. He stirred in his chair yawning and stretching out his limbs, gazing out the window. It seems that the twins moons and stars had already fled upon the sun's steady approach. The world outside was bathed in gentle, orange light that only grew stronger as the sun rose higher to take its rightful place.

His wearied eyes then lingered to the sleeping child. Her warm smile and calm breaths nearly lulled him back to sleep.

"Cereza…" Do'kir whispered. He laughed to himself recalling how long it took for him to gather the courage to ask her name. And he couldn't think of a more beautiful name that could fit such a sweet and innocent child like her. With just her mere presence, fear and unease would shrink from her cheerfulness. It's like he could forget all his worries and spend an eternity content in protecting Cereza's sweet smile.

"Brother… I'm scared…"

A pang of guilt wrenched his stomach. The longer he spent with Cereza, the faster his fear for K'ara faded from his mind. Snarling, Do'kir clenched his fists and his claws dug into the pads of his hands. Blood dripped onto the wooden floor. He should be out there, searching for her! Not be trapped here, protecting this brat!

Do'kir sighed and shook away these thoughts. Now was not the time to be thinking like this. He rose from his chair and turned around to face the door illuminated by rays of faint light. His stiff back ached from sleeping on that hard, wooden chair. He needed a proper bed asap.

He took a step forward.

Immediately a jolt of pain that was sent from the base of his tail spread throughout his entire body. He yowled his curses(thankful Cereza was still fast asleep) and fell flat on his butt onto the wooden floor. He groaned and rubbed his head. Something was pulling his tail. He raised himself and looked back to see that his tail was in clutches of the child's arms, his precious appendage hugged as if it were a teddy bear.

With both hands Do'kir gripped his tail and tugged it with all his might, but that child had an iron grip over his tail. The harder he pulled, the tighter she held on. Tension painfully built on his tail as it was stretched beyond its limits. She'd be strangling it to death if it were alive and at this point if the Khajiit wanted freedom he had to resort to cutting off his own appendage. He shuddered at the thought.

"So fluffy…" Cereza muttered, nuzzling her soft cheeks against his tail.

The Khajiit sighed his defeat and released his grip. If they had kept at it with their little game of tug of war, he didn't doubt that his tail would snap like it was thin string. Khajiit was stuck. He could just step over to her and shake her awake, but he just didn't have the cruelty in him to break her peaceful dreams. Then a clever idea came to the cat. Centering all his focus onto his tail, its fluffy tip began to wiggle on Cereza's neck. A cheerful laugh left Cereza's lips and held tighter to her captive. Do'kir frowned. That wasn't the reaction he was going for. His tail then snaked its way up to Cereza's cheeks and wiggled once again against them. Do'kir grumbled when it yielded the same results; another adorable giggle and a grip becoming harder than ebony. This time his tail moved to hover above her little nose. He wiggled his tail again, the soft fur of his tail tickling her nose. With one arm, the sleeping Cereza swatted the thin air above her face. Her grip on his tail was weakened. Now was his chance! With two hands, Do'kir successfully pried his tail from the child's hold.

Cereza's arms reached out to take back what she had just lost, but with silent steps Do'kir had quickly made his escape from her clutches.

Do'kir had already made his way to the door of his room when the coppery scent of blood crawled into his sensitive nose. His face recoiled back in disgust. He changed his route and made his way downstairs already guessing who reeked of the scent.

Sitting on the kitchen table with an open bottle of mead in his hand was none other than Sir Tallowhand. His steel plated helmet was set on the table so the big, drunken brute of a Nord could happily drink his precious mead without any obstacles. His dirtied, blonde, ragged hair swung about as he threw his head up to take another heavy swig of his mead. He didn't bother in trying to show any signs of modesty when his obnoxious chugging could be heard throughout the house.

As he was chugging down that bottle, his eye opened and could barely register Do'kir through that drunken haze of his. He stopped drinking and greeted the Khajiit in a voice slurred by alcohol. "Mornin…"

Do'kir snorted his disgust.

It was always like this. During the rare weeks that the Nord stayed home, a courier garbed in blue light armor would come and visit the man to hand him a letter. Do'kir thought it must've been important if the courier chose to travel to a remote and isolated home such as this. The Nord would then grumble something about "damn faithless Imperials" before donning his steel plate armor. After handing Do'kir another list of chores, the Nord would leave without another word and disappear into the open horizon on horseback. Only after a few weeks would the Nord return in the state like he is in now, dried blood staining every inch of his armor while feeding his drunken stupor with countless bottles of mead.

Do'kir only had to wait a few more weeks for the process to repeat.

"S'ppose you're wondering why this old Nord's always leaving…" he began with a sluggish voice.

The cat's ears perked at the question. Do'kir would be lying if he said he wasn't.

"Always trustin sum petty, Khajiit slave ta protect my daughta when he could jist as easily killed her and take off…" he continued. "Always comin back with so much blood in my hands... always drinkin mead after a lon week of killin…" He took another swig from his bottle.

Fear crept onto the cat.

With the hand holding the bottle, the Nord pointed at the Khajiit. His eyes were heavy with regret. "Ah'll tell ya, I swear ah'll tell ya… someday…but today, you gotta get my daughta ready fer school…"

"Kitty, are we there yet?" Cereza mumbled followed by a long, tired yawn,

Do'kir turned his head around to check on the child. Her fiery red hair that flared under the sun's early glow was barely tamed into a short pony tail, but the Khajiit noticed a few stray, fiery strands had managed to wiggle out of her pony tail. She looked like a draugar that rushed to raise itself from the grave just to do its hair. Her blue dress didn't look much neater. It was marred by so many wrinkles that the fabric may as well be made out of the skin of an old hagraven. And her sapphire blue eyes were so dull and sleep deprived that zombies had more life in their eyes than hers. His gaze lingered onto the purple knapsack that rested on her side. The Khajiit could imagine its contents in a jumbled mess when he recalled the child cramming books in there with the fragile inkwells and quills before she slung the bag carelessly over her shoulder.

Do'kir sighed and turned his head back to focus his gaze onto the open road ahead of them. He flicked the reigns, urging Epona to trot faster than a slug. Epona flicked her mane at him, Do'kir taking it as her way of saying no. "No, we are not there yet," he grumbled.

Cereza released a mix between a grumble and a yawn before she buried her face into his back. Her arms tightened its embrace around him.

The Khajiit wasn't faring any better. There were a couple of noticeable stains on his plain brown tunic and pants that he's been wearing since yesterday. And the Khajiit hasn't groomed himself in so long that large patches of his fur gathered in rough clumps. His eyes were trapped in a constant battle against his own weariness. Do'kir's vision would flicker between dreams and reality. Every now and then his head would become so burderned that it'd dip until his muzzle tipped his chest. As the world faded away Do'kir could barely register the reigns slipping from his grasp. His body became so light that it started to tilt to the side so far that his body was hanging off from Epona's saddle. When he felt the world was starting to descend, his eyes snapped back open and his grip tightened on the reigns, preventing his fall.

Do'kir shook off as much of his weariness as he could and continue traveling the empty, dirt path. A gentle breeze blew by, swaying the blades of grass surrounding them.

"Hey Kitty, do you think it's weird Papa only tells me now that I have school on the first day of school?"

The cat silently agreed with her. He admitted it was a little strange for the Nord to pick today, the first day of school, that the child, whom she believed that she would never be going to school, had to go to school. Wouldn't it have been better to tell her a couple a days beforehand? It would've spared them the trouble this morning when they had to rush out of the house as if today was the next Oblivion Crisis.

"Khajiit does think it strange, but Do'kir is sure it is nothing to worry about," he assured her.

He felt her sigh into his back, unsure whether or not that was a sign that she accepted his answer. A few moments of silence lingered between them.

"What's school like?" she suddenly murmured into his back.

He fumbled with his words. "Khajiit… uh… never actually went to school," he admitted, a little embarrassed. Do'kir didn't think it was a bad thing. Going to school as a child wasn't really the norm in Tamriel. And it usually depended on where you live. If you lived in places like the grand cities of Cyrodiil you're bound to stumble upon at least a dozen of prestigious schools around every corner. If you lived in a filthy, ghetto town run by skeevers, good luck trying to find a book.

"How come?" was her next question.

"Khajiit has been traveling the world since an age younger than yours, Little One," he explained to her with a smile. "Do'kir never spends enough time in one place to devote himself to school. This one's father and mother taught everything Do'kir knows."

"Like what?"

"Answer Do'kir, what's twelve minus four times three?"

Cereza scrunched her face, her brain working for an answer. Then she answered with a confident grin, "24!"

He laughed and shook his head. "Wrong, Little One. The answer is zero."

Her grin fell. She removed her face from his back to give him a skeptical gaze. "No it's not, Kitty. When you subtract twelve by four you get eight then when you times it by three you get 24."

"Your first mistake was starting the equation from left to right. In an equation, multiplication and division take priority over addition and subtraction. The correct way was to first multiply together four and three to get twelve. Then subtract that by twelve. Twelve minus twelve is zero."

Her gaze remained skeptical. She wasn't buying this. "What makes you an expert in math?"

Do'kir chuckled. He could feel her pouted look digging into the back of his head. "Khajiit's father is a traveling merchant and he taught this one much of what Do'kir knows. Math comes very much in handy when you're counting coin."

"And what did your mother teach you?"

"Oh…" The ends of his muzzle curled up to a coy smile. "Just a few tricks…"

Cereza suddenly felt something tickling the back of her neck. She turned around, ready to swat her attacker, but her eyes found nothing but the open road behind her. But she did notice the sudden emptiness of weight on her hip.

"Missing something?" Do'kir spoke, stifling a laugh. He didn't need to turn around to know she had a surprised look when he handed her a purple knapsack.

She slung the knapsack back over shoulder. She was about to ask him how he did that, but Epona suddenly came to a stop.

"We're here," Do'kir declared.

It almost looked like a small town with how the dirt road shot straight the multiple wooden buildings that were planted on the sides of the path. Do'kir guessed the buildings to be about the same size as inns. He only noticed one two-story building that towered above the rest.

Do'kir flicked the reigns and Epona trotted forward. They passed a lone tree that stood a few yards away from the school before finally reaching their destination. Do'kir hopped off Epona and helped Cereza down from the saddle. He offered her his hand and she accepted it eagerly. On foot they continued down the path.

It was almost unnerving how empty the place was. But what was even more strange to the cat was how brand new everything looked. As he glanced at each building that stood on the sides of the path, his eyes failed to find any holes or chips in the polished, dark-brown wood. No cobwebs hanged on any of the porches nor were there any hidden skeevers lurking about. It's almost as if this school had just finished building a few days ago.

Eventually they passed the last building where the empty road continued to stretch endlessly with through the fields of grass. Do'kir was hoping to meet someone who can give them directions, but found no one at all. And he wasn't exactly keen on just going to random buildings and knocking on their doors. He glanced down and gave Cereza a sorry expression. "Maybe if we come back tomorrow?" he suggested.

Then a voice, female by the sounds of it, called out from behind them. "Excuse me, but are you two lost?"

The duo turned around to find a tall High Elf jogging towards them. She had both of her hands gripping the fabric of blue robes to lift them slightly above the ground to avoid getting any dirt on her. Even with her robes covering most of her body, the cat could make her perfectly lean form. She had skin a light gold that glimmered under the sun's light, high cheek bones, and long flowing locks of silvery hair that matched the beauty of her silver eyes.

It took a while for Do'kir to realize her tall frame casting a shadow over him. His words were jumbled a mess before he could fix them into a coherent sentence. "Y-yes, Khajiit is lost. Is this… the school?"

The honest kindness of her smile soothed him. "Why yes," she answered. Her voice was like a mother's, soothing and kind. "I noticed you two through the window of my classroom. I'm assuming the child under your care is here to enroll?"

He nodded, his throat too dry for words

The Altmer's expression grew into a wider smile. "Excellent! Then I believe proper introductions are in order." She held out her hand to him. "My name is Atrerane Athlock, proud instructor of Summerset Academy. A pleasure to meet you, young Khajiit." Do'kir still did not speak, and she seemed to pay no mind to how much his hand trembled when they shook hands. Her grip was firm while his would crumble at the slightest breeze. "All right, follow and I'll show you where the class is." She turned around and walked away.

He felt Cereza tug his arm. "Kitty, are you ok?"

The stress that Do'kir was trying so hard to suppress was released through his sigh. Cereza must've sensed the tension building up in his body with how tightly he held her hand. "It's nothing, Little One. Khajiit is fine."

Khajiit was not fine. He was confused, and to be honest, a little scared. He's never met a High Elf that was so… kind. His past experiences with Altmer usually involved them shoving their elven supremacy down his throat, whether it be through their racist slurs or their glares that saw nothing more than a mere mindless animal. And his encounters with the Thalmor were on a whole other level. Whenever his caravan had the misfortune of running into the Thalmor during their travels, the elves would "suspect" their cargo held illegal skooma hidden somewhere and would require a "proper search". As always they'd find nothing, but even then the elves would "confiscate" a few valuable items for "evidence". His mother had her hidden dagger ready to slit their throats, but the silver tongue of his father managed to convince her that it wasn't worth the trouble.

Cereza's tugged his arm again, breaking his trance. "C'mon, Kitty. She's leaving."

"S-sorry," Do'kir said.

They speed-walked until they were a foot away from the High Elf.

"A quick question," the elf said, never turning around and kept on walking. "Many of my students hail from lands very far so the school has installed a barracks to house them. They're going to live here as they learn. Will this child be doing the same?"

Do'kir shook his head. "There's no need. Do'kir and this child live close to this school." The cat couldn't see the Altmer's face, but Do'kir could tell she was intrigued at the thought of someone else living in a land as empty and quiet as this.

They reached the porch of a building, standing just outside the door. Do'kir's sharp ears perked at the sounds of many children talking and laughing just behind that door. He noticed Cereza staring intently at the barrier that separated her and the strange new world she was about to embark in.

Cereza shifted her gaze up to meet the Khajiit's. He could see the fear and unease creeping over her blue eyes. "Kitty, I don't wanna go to school," she whimpered. Words flooded from her mouth as if a damn she's been trying so hard to preserve for so long finally broke. "I never met other kids before and I don't know how to make friends with them and what if they're mean and they don't like me and what if I don't like them and it's going to be really weird and I think I forgot my quills at home and… and…

"Little One…" Do'kir whispered. His caring tone and gaze eased the torrent of her words. He knelt down and placed a firm and assuring grip on her shoulder. "Khajiit understands. It is all right for you to be afraid. Meeting new people can start as a rough experience, this one knows." He chuckled at that last sentence. "School is going to be a wonderful time in your life no matter what lies your fear feeds you, and even if Do'kir's words cannot convince you otherwise, Khajiit can promise you that there's at least one child in there who will become your great friend."

Cereza's eyes were given new light. She had no words. She didn't need any. She stepped up and gave her Khajiit guardian a loving embrace, burying herself into the fur of his neck. Her hug could suffocate the life out of a dragon, but he laughed off the pain and returned her embrace with his own.

Do'kir then remembered that they were not alone. From the corner of his eye, he noticed that the High Elf has been standing there the whole time. She was wiping something from her eyes.

He gave her back one last pat before parting. "Good luck. Khajiit will return for you before sunset," he told her, grinning and ruffling her hair. Then he left, disappearing from Cereza's view as he and Epona rode towards the horizon.

"Ready to meet the other children?" Ms. Athlock asked Cereza.

Cereza gave her a firm nod. She could feel her fear crawling inside her, but the confidence and determination she now felt worked to slay it.

Ms. Athlock opened the door for the Nord, and Cereza stepped in.

Cereza observed the classroom. A tall podium was situated in front of the dozens of child-sized desks, the desks filled with young children talking and laughing amongst each other. They were a very colorful bunch with skins ranging from a light gold to a light green and there was variety of colors in their eyes, but if there was one distinct feature they all shared among their many differences, it was that they all had pointy ears.

They were all High Elves.

Their conversations and laughter faded into silence. They all turned to fixate their gaze at Cereza. Some of them looked curious, interested at the thought of a Nord joining their ranks. but most had judging gazes that seemed almost appalled at her wrinkled blue dress and her mess of a ponytail, but they seemed more disgusted how non-elven she was.

Cereza nearly jumped at the hand place on her shoulder. "Hurry now. Class can't commence until everyone is seated," Ms. Athlock spoke.

Doing her best to ignore the dozens of gazes, Cereza's eyes stumbled upon only one unoccupied desk, right next to the middle seat of the front row. The High Elf that had taken the middle desk that directly faced the podium caught the Nord's attention. The Altmer had autumn brown skin and hair that matched the golden color of her eyes. She's an Altmer like the rest of the children, but what made her stand out among all the other High Elves was the fact she seemed to be the only one who didn't even take a single glance at Cereza, almost as if the Nord doesn't even exist. The elf had her hands folded and planted firmly onto the surface of the desk, head held up high as if she were masterfully balancing her pride on her nose, and her calm eyes remained centered to the empty podium waiting patiently for her Ms. Athlock to take her place and begin class.

Cereza took her seat next to her, the elf still not batting an eye to her presence.

Ms. Athlock took her place behind the podium and spoke in a clear and powerful voice that filled the classroom. "Good afternoon students, and welcome to Summerset Academy! I am your instructor, Ms. Athlock, and I congratulate you all for having the honor of being this school's very first students!"

Cereza could feel the pressure of the dozens of gazes digging into the back of her head. The confidence she once had shrunk as her fear and unease returned stronger than ever. There were whispers behind her, too faint for her to make out but the cruel intent in them were clear. She buried her face in her arms, blocking the whispers and the rest of Ms. Athlock's speech. Cereza wanted to disappear, to fade from her pathetic existence if it meant she could avoid all the judges behind her.

"-and may we have a wonderful first year of school. Now, let's get started with introductions. Any volunteers?"

Cereza heard the loud screeching of a chair being pushed back right beside her. She lifted her gaze from her arms to see the light autumn brown elf walk to the podium and face the entire classroom. The elf stood like a proud soldier; head held up high, hands folded behind her back, and stern eyes surveying each and every individual laid out before her. Cereza noticed the elf's gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before it positioned itself back to face the entire class.

The young elf spoke in a powerful tone that demanded attention. "Greetings, my fellow peers. My name is Arianya Sillonaerith, daughter and only child of the prestigious Sillonaerith family, a family who are renowned supporters of the Thalmor through their generous donations. I ask that you do not let my heritage make any different than any of you. I look forward to learning together with you all."

Arianya bowed then strutted confidently back to her seat.

Ms. Athlock clapped her hands together, clearly impressed to see a child speak with such confidence and volume. "Excellent introduction, young Arianya. Now, who else wants to volunteer?" Her eyes surveyed the class. No one got up from their seats nor did they make any move to raise their hands. The nervousness were written loud and clear on their silent faces. Ms. Athlock then settled her eyes on to the quiet Nord. "How about you, young Nord. Would you like to introduce yourself to the class?"

Her words had multiplied the pressure inside Cereza by a thousand. Her vision nearly went faint her mind swooning. The child gulped, stood up, and presented herself to the class. Trapped as the center of attention, Cereza hunched her body trying to make herself as small as possible. "H-Hi… my name is C-Cereza Tallowhand and… and… I'm a Nord…"

"Obviously", someone snickered within the crowd. Ms. Athlock shot a glare at the children.

"And I hope to be friends with you all!" Cereza spurted out as fast as she could. She shut her eyes tight to shield herself from the rest of the children's judging gazes, and she rushed herself back towards her seat; however, she failed to notice one wooden plank slightly higher above the rest. Cereza's foot made contact with it, tripped, and she fell to the ground, landing painfully in the empty space between her desk and Arianya's. Her knapsack burst open upon impact, scattering her books and inkwells across the wooden floor. Laughter erupted around her.

"Stupid Nord."

"Can't believe she's in our class."

"Another example why our race is superior."

Hot tears burned Cereza's glossy eyes. She remained curled up on the floor, wishing she could just die right there right now.

"SILENCE!"

The laughter died immediately and all heads turned to face Ms. Athlock, who stood there seething with rage. "I want you all to apologize to young Cereza," she commanded. Her words were calm, but her tone lethal. Her personality suddenly shifted to the exact opposite of what it was when the elf greeted Kitty.

Some of the elven children were obviously disgusted by the idea. "But why, Ms. Athlock?" one of the children spoke. "Nords are an inferior race to High Elves so there's no reason why-"

Ms. Athlock's murderous gaze silenced the child. "Such talk might be allowed in your homeland, but in my classroom, such vulgar beliefs are STRICTLY forbidden. Now class, apologize."

"We're sorry, Cereza," came a few muffled voices from the children.

"APOLOGIZE."

"WE'RE SORRY, CEREZA," groaned the entire class.

Cereza stared at her teacher, shocked, and Ms. Athlock returned her stare with a grin and an assuring nod.

Ms. Athlock clapped her hands, her anger and rage subsiding to a joyful smile. "All right, with that settled, let's move on to the next introduction."

Cereza finished stuffing all her books and inkwells back into her knapsack, wiping away a few stray tears. Even after receiving that apology, guilt and embarrassment had anchored her to the floor, and Cereza was fully content on just spending the rest of class there, that is, until a small hand of light autumn brown skin hovered just inches away from her face. Cereza's eyes trailed up the arm to meet the golden gaze of Arianya. Even just sitting on a desk her presence remained as commanding as ever. In Cereza's eyes, Arianya was a regal, elven princess who didn't have time to spare for lowly peasants like Cereza, but here she was extending a hand to the fallen Nord.

"W-Why? Don't you hate me?" Cereza asked.

"Because if you are really planning to sit next to me for an entire year, then you better show yourself some dignity," Arianya answered in a stern voice, Her golden eyes lacked kindness, but nor was there any hatred or disgust. Those were the eyes of someone who had expectations.

With a smile brimming with gratitude, Cereza took Arianya's hand.

Cereza took a moment to look up at the dark orange sky. Every passing moment the sun grew fainter as it sunk lower beneath the horizon. The stars and the two moons seized their chance. Each second a new star popped up in the sky, small but proudly showing its light within the blanket of darkness. The two moons began as phantoms in the sky, hardly noticeable unless you gave them a hard squint, but the more the sun's light faded from the world the more the two moons materialized in the darkening sky to take their rightful place.

Cereza sighed and continued her sullen walk down the path, dragging her feet through the dirt along the way.

After that fall of hers, the rest of the day became somewhat of a blur. She could only recall spending most of the afternoon praying to the Nine for the day to be over. And as soon as Ms. Athlock concluded class, Cereza was the first to rush out of the door and escape the judging stares of the other children.

She stopped to look to take in the view in front of her. She had already passed the last school building so now the path continued on through the empty fields of grass.

"Kitty, where are you?" Cereza whispered to the setting sun.

The sun was showing its last signs of life with the faintest of orange light and her Khajiit guardian was nowhere in sight. It was almost completely dark now, but Kitty wouldn't mind if she decided to meet him halfway down the road, right? Cereza let out one last sigh before she continued on the darkening path.

She walked a few yards, passing the lone tree.

"What's the matter, kid? Someone stole your sweetroll?"

A yelp almost escaped her lips but Cereza managed to pull it back in time and keep her composure. She gulped down the lump in her throat before turning around to meet the speaker.

He was a thin man that lacked so much muscle and fat Cereza would've believed him a skeleton if he didn't have skin that was stained with so much dirt. There wasn't a single trace of hair on his head, but he sported a ragged, brown beard so filthy and mangled that Cereza swore she saw a few bugs crawling inside it. He wore a roughspun tunic and tattered pants, but what caught Cereza's attention was the pairs of iron gauntlets and boots he wore that showed years of rust.

He was leaning back against the tree, arms crossed and flashing a smile missing dozens of teeth. "Let me guess…" he spoke in the slithery tone of a snake that sickened the child. "Met a bunch of strangers who treated you like dirt… getting picked on fer being different… your self-esteem crushed… overall your first day of school's not matching the way ya pictured it. How you've been slouching in yer walk tells it all."

The stranger's accurate guess had stripped her of her words. She could only nod in response.

The man smirked and stepped closer to her from his spot. "Lucky for you, I got a little solution that'll make all your problems fade like dreams." From his pocket the man produced a small, glass vial. He tossed it towards her and she barely caught it with her two hands. "Consider that a free sample."

Cereza inspected the vial, examining every inch of it as violet liquid sloshed within. She pulled the cork out to take a whiff of its contents. A sudden wave of warmth washed over Cereza, almost causing her to fall back when the sweet scent flooded her nose. For a split second, a purple haze clouded her vision and her thoughts became mush. She looked up at the man, silently asking him what to do next.

"Go on… take a sip…". His dark eyes were goading her.

Cereza gave him an obedient nod. If this liquid was going to help her forget today, then she'd gladly do it. She raised her head and lifted the vial to her lips.

"Little One!" Do'kir shouted as he leapt from Epona's saddle and rushed to the child, snatching away the vial before even a drop could enter her lips. He raised the vial to his snout and sniffed. Immediately a wave of warmth caused him to stumble back as he recognized the purple haze that briefly clouded his vision. Do'kir snarled viciously at the vial before chucking it far away with all his strength, its violet liquids spilling into the grass.

"A Khajiit, huh? I thought yer kind was into that stuff," he heard the skeletal man chuckle.

Do'kir hissed dangerously at the man, stepping in front of Cereza to serve as a protective shield. "Khajiit can't let you sell skooma to children!"

"A scrawny cat trying to play hero?" The man gave Do'kir a disappointed sigh. "Hate to do this in front of a kid, but I can't have you ruining my business." The man raised his gauntlets.

Do'kir's head swiveled to see the child behind him. He shouted to her in frantic panic, "Little One! Get away from-"

Cereza shrieked in terror when an ironed fist came crashing against Do'kir's skull. The cat slid and sprawled against the grass, groaning out his pain. He tried to lift himself up but another iron fist bashed his skull back to the ground. He then felt the man's weight sit itself on top of him. Do'kir could have easily thrown the skeletal man off him, but his body was racked with so much pain that it chained him to the ground. All the cat could do now was lay there and pray to the twin moons.

Do'kir squinted an eye opened to see the twin moons shine the man sitting on top of him who gave the cat a wicked smile. Metal fist after metal fist came crashing down on Do'kir's head. The man's thin body lacked power, but his iron gauntlets gave his strikes plenty of impact to create the cracks on Do'kir's skull.

…

…

Vision. Fading. Pain. Numbing. Skull. Cracking. Blood. Oozing.

The man ceased his assault, but the wickedness in his eyes remained. "Sorry kid, but I think I've had my fun long enough." He unsheathed an iron dagger.

Within his dying thoughts, Do'kir recalled a memory of the last skooma incident he encountered. He remembered holding his crying sister tightly to him as the blade wielded by the Khajiit mercenary his caravan had hired to protect them was inches from his throat. He remembered the insanity festering in the mercenary's eyes as he demanded where the two hid his precious skooma, never believing Do'kir that they had nothing to do with his skooma. Just when he recalled how he felt the tip of the blade about to puncture his throat, his mother suddenly appeared behind the crazed mercenary, a dagger ready to slit his throat. "Cover her eyes," he remembered his mother whispering to Do'kir before the he heard splatter of blood soak his fur.

But Do'kir was now alone. No Mother to save him.

Mustering the little strength he had left, Do'kir tilted his head to the side and found Cereza on ground, trembling and staring back at Do'kir with fearful eyes.

Please. Do'kir. Forgive.

The man raised his dagger, the bladeglinting in the moonlight.

"Kitty… I'm scared…"

Cereza watched Do'kir's eyes widen. Time had frozen between the two, Cereza's helpless and fearful gaze returned with Do'kir's blank, empty one. But then she watched in awe as a great fire of rage ignited in his eyes.

The man aimed and brought down his dagger and Cereza heard blood splatter.

Khajiit! Protect!

"What the-" the man barely breathed out before swift claws raked against his eyeballs. He screamed out in pain before throwing himself off Do'kir. With both hands he desperately tried to block the blood the poured out from his face.

Cereza watched in disbelief as Do'kir pulled out the dagger that had stabbed through the palm of his hand. The cat spat the blood out his muzzle and pushed himself back to two feet.

The man stared at Do'kir, the insanity in his eyes intensified by the pain. Three, red claw marks had ripped across his face, dripping blood. "Nice little trick ya did there," the man said in a crackling voice. "Stopping my dagger with the palm of your hand just before the blade could get ya in the eye."

Do'kir hissed and readied his claws. Blood poured from the open wound on the palm of his right hand.

"But no more fun and games… this time I'm gonna-"

The man never got to finish his sentence. Out of nowhere a small, blue sphere of light was launched and entered the man. The insanity in his dispersed and replaced by a mindless daze. And he just stood there, silent and motionless as a rock.

"Thank the Divines, I made it in time!" the tall, eleven woman Do'kir had met earlier toady said as she rushed towards the stunned Cereza. She had both hands on the child's face, tilting in every direction to inspect every corner. "Are you all right?"

"I-I'm fine," she whimpered. "But Kitty…"

Cereza's trembling hand pointed to the injured Khajiit. Pity consumed the elf. She rushed to Do'kir's side and knelt down to his level. He flinched when she placed both hands on his cheeks.

"It's ok," the elf soothed him. "It's just going to be a little Restoration magic…"

Golden light flooded the elf's hand and a surge of energy entered the cat. He heard cracks in his head but it felt as if his skull was working to repair itself. And the numbing pain he felt was drained away to the point he could finally feel the elf's gentle hands on his cheeks.

"Now, give me your hand…" He offered her his injured hand and she held it in her palm.

Do'kir watched in disbelief as the same golden light wrapped around his hand, slowly closing the open hole, reducing it to a scar, and then the scar faded entirely. From the corner of his eye, he noticed the child had been watching the entire process with wide eyes and mouth agape in awe.

He asked her how she knew what was going on, and she explained to him that an elven child named Arianya noticed a scuffle taking place a few yards from the school. Arianya did what she thought was the most appropriate action and immediately informed her teacher.

"And what's going to happen to that skooma dealer?" Do'kir asked, glancing over to the motionless man.

A dark look streamed across the elf's eyes. "Oh, don't you worry about that. You two should just focus on getting home…"

"Hmm…" Tallowhand said gazing at the Khajiit with eyes deep in thought. He wanted to ask his daughter a couple of questions concerning the school she enrolled in, but when he saw his Khajiit slave come back to the house with his fur drenched in blood and a look of horror plastered in his daughter's face, priorities changed.

Do'kir took in a deep breath. He just finished explaining to Sir Tallowhand everything that's happened through a lengthy story he told without taking a single breath.

"Boy…" the Nord said in a quiet but demanding tone.

"Y-Yes, Sir Tallowhand?" Do'kir asked, unsure what to make of the fierceness in the Nord's eyes.

"I think it's about time I start training you how to wield a sword…"


	4. Power to Protect

"Quit daydreaming and attack already, Boy!"

Do'kir snapped back into reality. He found himself standing on the open grass just a few yards away from the house, an iron sword in his shaking hands. And standing not far off was the brute Nord who had shed his steel-plated armor in favor for commoner's clothes; a plain brown tunic and pants.

"Sir Tallowhand, Khajiit is… Khajiit is not sure about this…" Do'kir croaked as his words trembled like the iron sword he held in his quivering hands.

"Calm your nerves, Boy," the large Nord commanded. "You couldn't strike me even if the spirit of Talos was guiding those flimsy twigs holding your sword." Sir Tallowhand crossed his arms and glared down at the cowering cat. "Now, come at me with everything you got! I need to see what I'm working with here."

Do'kir returned him a nervous nod and tightened his grip on his sword.

Do'kir analyzed his foe. The Nord was armorless and weaponless; a simple and easy kill when you have a sharp sword in your hands. And yet… somehow Do'kir still found himself cowering under the warrior's fearsome visage; intimidating size and bulk, scars etched into every part of the man's skin that, with a single glance, told the fierce battles the warrior fought and survived, and his cold, steel-blue eyes sent shivers down his feeble soul.

The Nord boasted that Do'kir wouldn't even leave a scratch on him, but still, what if he injured the Nord? Or worse, killed him?

Do'kir's thoughts then strayed to the young child watching not far off with worried eyes.

If Do'kir killed the Nord, who would be strong enough to protect Cereza, his Little One?

It was a waiting game between the two. Silence perpetuated the air. Nothing in the world seemed to move.

Then, surging with a mighty battle cry, Do'kir charged at the Nord. If he could not rid himself of these fears, then he'll overwhelm fear with anger! Anger that he was reduced to a mere slave! Anger that he was ripped away from his family! Anger that he failed to protect the one thing most precious to him in this cruel world! With his blade raised and now only a few inches away from the cause of his despair, Do'kir channeled all his rage into a downward slash he envisioned would cleave the Nord into two.

Sir Tallowhand sighed in disappointment.

With swift movement, the Nord pivoted on one foot, disappearing from Do'kir's line of sight and letting the blade graze inches above his chest. The Khajiit failed to control his momentum as he stumbled in his last two steps before falling flat and nearly impaling himself with his own sword.

"Pathetic," the Nord spat.

Do'kir spat out the grass from his muzzle and charged again.

The Khajiit swung his blade with all of his strength and anger again and again, and yet, the Nord dodges every swing like they were that of a flailing child. With every failed swing, his rage began to falter, and fear and doubt once again dominated his mind. His sword at last fell to the ground as his arms were ablaze with burning pain. Do'kir's body followed suit as his shriveled lungs desperately grasped for air. A broad shadow then loomed over the cat. The Khajiit mustered what little strength he had left to lift his gaze towards the Nord.

Do'kir immediately regretted it. It was like gazing into his Mother's face after he accidently let loose the horses, or when he accidently shattered one of Father's expensive vases, or when he was caught stuffing himself stolen sweets his sister nabbed for him. She wasn't angry… just… DISAPPOINTED. The cat wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole and die.

"We have a lot of work to do," was all the Nord said before trudging off.

* * *

"How will this make Khajiit a better swordsman?" Do'kir couldn't help but ask. He stood in the middle of living room where the Nord tasked him to spread out his arms to form a sort of T-pose while holding a bucket full of rocks in each hand.

The Nord took a big swig of mead before taking a seat at the dining table. "Before I start teaching you how to wield a weapon, I first have to make sure you can even hold one," he explained after letting loose a drunken belch.

Sounds simple enough, Do'kir supposed. "How long must this one to hold this pose?" he asked.

"Until I say so," the Nord responded, his words slurred by the alcohol.

Do'kir sighed and said nothing more.

This will be no problem at all, the Khajiit thought to himself. Do'kir felt hardly any weight at all with the scant amount of rocks in the buckets. A smug grin graced his muzzle. If training was this easy, he'll be wielding a sword like a true warrior in no time.

Time passed.

Fur drenched in sweat and shaking arms on the verge of breaking off, Do'kir's mind fired constant curses at the Nord who sat so leisurely on the dining table. Some of the curses were even made up and simply a jumbled mess of words- anything to help him ignore the two boulders he held with each hand. Do'kir glanced out the window to see how much time has passed, only to discover that the sun had not budged an inch since his torture began. He shifted his focus back on the Nord hoping for him to spare mercy. Unfortunately, much to the cat's dismay, the Nord was already snoring in his seat, an empty mead bottle in his hand.

For a brief moment, Do'kir considered abandoning his training. Surely, the Nord didn't expect him to hold onto these buckets of rocks until he woke. But the night of how helpless he was when Cereza was attacked replayed in his mind, steeling his resolve and tightening his grip on the buckets. Do'kir swore to himself to become stronger, even if that means holding buckets full of rocks then so be it. He was prepared to go through the darkest depths of Oblivion if it meant obtaining the power to protect his Little One.

He was not prepared, however, for ten tiny fingers tickling his ribs.

"Tickle fight!" Cereza laughed behind him.

"Not now, Little One!" Do'kir shouted before biting his bottom lip to suppress his laugh.

"Aww…" the child groaned and abandoned her assault. She moved in front of him and asked with hands behind her, "What are you doing?"

"Training," he answered before resuming his stoic expression.

Cereza retreated to laying down on the soft fur of the bear carpet. Occasionally, she would switch between reading a book to drawing pictures.

Do'kir closed his eyes and sighed, lifting his head towards ceiling. He tried to ignore the pain burning in his arms, but it proved to a futile effort. The pain crept through the cracks in his mind, tormenting him into giving up. He needed a distraction.

"How was school, Little One?" he asked.

"Boring," she said. "We only have one teacher, and it's Ms. Athlock, the lady you met on the first day. She teaches some math and English, but her lectures are almost always about Skyrim since we live so close to it."

"Are you getting along with your fellow students?"

The quill in her hand froze. "They're… ok, I guess…"

Do'kir's eyes sharpened into a skeptical leer. Even trolls can sound more convincing. "Tell Khajiit the truth, Little One."

Silence befallen the two when she didn't give an immediate response, but when she lifted her eyes to meet Do'kir's, their gazes locked. Do'kir's look of cut the bullshit broke down her will. "I don't think everyone likes me…" she finally admitted. "Well, not everyone. Ms. Athlock always tries to make sure no one makes fun of me. And then there's one girl I sit next to. She doesn't hate me, but I don't think she likes me either."

"Hmmm," Do'kir mumbled, deep in thought. He was worried considering last time he checked, High Elves and Nords don't mix. And oil was thrown towards the fire of animosity between the two races when the Altmer banned the worshipping of Talos. Ms. Athlock's strange kindness and this other student Cereza mentioned eased his worries, but only by a bit. "Did you finish your homework?"

"Nah, I'll do it later," she said as she went back to her drawing.

"No, you'll do it right now," Do'kir said firmly.

Cereza pouted back at him. "Make me."

It only took a few seconds for Do'kir's stern glare to break Cereza's will once again. The rest of the day was spent with Do'kir aiding his master's daughter with her homework, never breaking off his pose.

"Careful, Little One, when dividing a number by fraction, have the denominator switch places with the numerator and change the division symbol into a multiplication symbol," Do'kir told Cereza.

"Yeah yeah, I know, Kitty! You don't have to keeping reminding me," Cereza grumbled.

"Khajiit is reminding you because you forgot. Look back at problem three," Do'kir advised.

"Oh," the child said, realizing her mistake and scribbling out her answer.

When the last remnants of orange sunlight faded away, Do'kir finally remembered to look out the window. He watched as the scarlet sun disappeared beneath the horizon of the darkening forest, leaving only the dim illumination of candles as their only source of light.

It was that moment that Nord woke up with a loud snort. The man squinted his eyes over Do'kir. "Oh," he said with a yawn. "You're still doing that? Was only gonna make you hold those buckets for an hour or two. I guess should've told you before I fell asleep. You can stop now if you want."

The buckets fell to the ground with a loud bang, startling both Nords, but the Khajiit's expression remained unreadable.

The Nord raised himself from the table. "Whelp, I think it's bout time I get dinner ready. Daughter, help me out."

'Ok, Papa!" Cereza jumped off the ground and was running off to the kitchen until the meek voice of Do'kir drew her attention.

"Um, Little One?"

Cereza turned around and noticed Do'kir remained in his T-pose position, dread across his face. "This one can't move his arms…"

* * *

"The legs are just as important as arms!" Sir Tallowhand shouted to Do'kir. A sturdy rope was tied to a bale of hay, and attached to the other end was Do'kir with the rope tied around his waist. "I want fifty laps around the house, now," the Nord demanded.

"Fif-fifty?" Do'kir choked out.

The Nord raised an eyebrow. "Did I stutter?"

"N-No, Sir Tallowhand. But Khajiit thinks fifty laps is-"

"THEN LET'S MAKE IT SIXTY!" the Nord boomed. "OR DO I HEAR SEVENTY?"

* * *

Do'kir flung himself onto bed, the moonlight illuminating his crumpled body.

Khajiit would rather be on fire than suffer through this, Do'kir thought venomously. Every muscle in his body was writhing in agony, and there were at least two places in his body where his muscles were locked in a state of grotesque convulsion.

Do'kir silently cursed the Nord and his training. When this training started, each day was either carry a bucket of rocks or run how-many-laps-I-feel-like while tied to hay, but in recent weeks, it was now a combination of both where it left his body on the cliff's edge of death. And the push-ups, sit-ups, and squats he had to at the end of the day felt like the Nord was trying to kick him off that edge.

"Kitty?" a small voice asked behind him.

His body screamed in protest, but Do'kir managed to roll his body to the other side and face Cereza, the moonlight bathing her small body in a gentle glow.

"Look what I got on my math homework!" She held up a piece of parchment where every numbered problem had a checkmark next to it. "I got them all right! Thanks, Kitty!"

She beamed him a bright smile, a smile that reminded him what he failed to protect, and what he wanted to protect right now.

* * *

Do'kir, nude, had returned to the forest's small oasis to wash off the sweat and grime he collected from today's training. He readied to dive into the cold pool of water until he took notice of his reflection. He noticed that his fur was a lot shaggier now, no doubt from spending so long in this land's frigid temperature. But despite that, his body was more filled out now, the outlines of his defined muscles clear as day. It's like all the fat he accumulated from stuffing sweets into his belly had melted away.

Do'kir traced a finger across his stomach.

And by the Twin Moons… did he have… abs!?

Do'kir stood in the open grass, the sun on his back and the towering Nord in front of him. "No training today, Sir Tallowhand?" Do'kir asked. He was glad he didn't have lift rocks or haul hay this time, but the fierceness in the Nord's eyes told the Khajiit not to be so foolish.

"Hand-to-hand combat," the Nord said bluntly. "In a real battle, you won't always have your weapon at hand. A true warrior is prepared to fight, with or without a weapon."

* * *

"Kitty, what happened to your eye?" Cereza gasped. She had just finished class, and was about to run up and hug Do'kir when he came to pick her up, but his black, swollen eye looked like it was to pop from any form of contact.

Do'kir gave her an assuring smile. "Training," he told her.

"Ms. Athlock?"

"Hm?" The Altmer woman's focus was buried in the pile of graded papers on her desk until she noticed the small, Nord child standing next to her, head to the ground and hands behind her back. "Still here, Child? Class is over."

"Can you teach me how to do healing magic?" the child quickly blurted, her eyes still glued to the ground.

"What brought this on?" the Altmer asked, perplexed.

"Kitty, started doing a lot of training with Papa, and I always see him so hurt and tired when he comes to pick me up. So, I want to learn how to heal him like you did last time he got hurt."

Ms. Athlock closed her eyes and rested her chin on a finger, deep in thought. "It is a bit early for me to teach magic to you children… but if it's to help you and that young Khajiit then… very well. I will gladly train you in Restoration magic."

Cereza's eyes shot up from the ground and into the warm smile of her teacher. "Thank you, Ms. Athlock!"

"No need to thank me, Child. Just remember to stay in class every lunch for lessons in Restoration magic."

* * *

A solid punch collided with Do'kir muzzle and knocked him into the grass. Do'kir wiped the blood off his snout with his arm, staining the fur into a darker crimson, and glared daggers at the towering Nord who responded with a smug smirk. He raised himself off the ground, but small hands on his arm tugged him back.

"Wait, Kitty," Cereza said, worry in her eyes.

"Little One?"

The child said nothing more. Do'kir watched in amazement as faint, golden came to life in the palms of her hands. She placed each hand on his cheeks, closing her eyes as the golden light intensified. He felt the pain from his bruises and the soreness in his muscles recede, but before they could disappear completely, the golden light faded and Cereza fell into his chest, exhausted.

"Sorry I couldn't heal you all the way. Don't have a lot of magic…" she mumbled into his fur.

"Don't apologize, Little One," Do'kir assured. He petted her hair and laughed. "When it is I who should be thanking you! Who taught you Restoration Magic?"

"Ms. Athlock, the nice teacher who healed you when you got hurt."

Do'kir had another question ready, but Sir Tallowhand's patience had already run thin. "Get up, Boy! Your training's not finished yet!" his voice bellowed.

* * *

"The sword… it's much lighter the last time this one held it," Do'kir gasped in awe as he gave the iron blade a few swings. "Like wielding a feather…"

The Nord smirked, like an artist proud of his greatest masterpiece. "It's the strength training, Boy. Now that I'm confident you can hold a weapon, it's time I start teaching you how to wield it."

Over the months, Do'kir honed his skills with the blade. For any weapon, never falter in the path of your swing, he recalled the Nord telling him. Every strike should be done with strength and confidence, lest you lose power in your attack and fail to deliver the killing blow. By day, whether it be through howling winds, pelting storms, or frigid snow, Do'kir's determination endured the harsh environments as he mastered the sword. And by night, he was back in his room doing push-ups with one arm with Cereza resting on his back, doing homework he was happy to help with.

Satisfied with his work, the Nord resumed his trips away from home, but whenever he came back, he sparred with the Khajiit to check his progress. The Nord often had to correct the Khajiit by telling him his grip on the blade was too tight or too loose, that his stance was either too wide or too short, or that he was putting too much power into his swings that would make it hard to control his momentum. But the more they sparred, the less frequent those mistakes became, and the more the Nord found himself to be actually enjoying their practice bouts.

No longer was Do'kir the frail slave he had been. He was a warrior now, a warrior dedicated to protecting the sweet smile in his Little One.

But that all changed one fateful night.

Do'kir fell to his knees, his bloodied sword his only source of support to lean on. Vicious claw marks were scattered across his body that leaked pools of his own blood, staining the grass below, but despite all that, his determined gaze remain fixated on the beast in front of him.

The wolf-like beast prowled on all fours, its razor-sharp teeth and claws glinting dangerously under the light of the full Twin Moons.

A werewolf, a beast Do'kir thought existed only in the stories his mother told him.

He could tell the beast was weakened. It clearly hadn't eaten in weeks as Do'kir could see the bones protruding through its grey hide; however, that didn't make the beast any less dangerous. The beast was just as injured as Do'kir, or perhaps even more so, with wounds cleaved open by his blade where gushing blood matted its dark fur, but its rabid hunger had left it unfazed by its wounds.

The beast snarled, causing Cereza to whimper behind him cling tighter to his fur. Do'kir snarled right back.

Then, without warning, it pounced.

Swiftly, Do'kir pushed Cereza away before he sprang upwards to meet the beast head on, his blade raised and aimed to pierce through the monster's heart. They collided mid-air. Do'kir felt his blade sink through the beast's flesh, and unimaginable, burning pain in his shoulder.

The two fell to the ground with the heavy, dead weight of the beast on top of Do'kir. With a pained grunt, he pushed the beast off him.

Cereza quickly rushed to his side, golden light ready in both hands. Thanks to her constant training with Ms. Athlock, her magicka reserves had greatly improved, allowing her to close up most of the gashes scattered across Do'kir's body. But one stubborn wound refused to close.

It was the bite mark on his shoulder.

"Why can't I heal this?" Cereza said, forcing more power into her healing, and yet the bite wound persisted. Eventually, Cereza had to abandon the attempt as her head grew faint from overexertion.

But Do'kir wasn't paying attention. His gaze remained fixated on the full Twin Moons overhead. Never had he realized how beautiful they were… how their light caressed his body in the most pleasurable way… how their light urged him to hunt…

... to kill…

And it was that moment, Do'kir realized what he had become.


	5. The Beast Awakens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Beast Awakens

Cereza watched in fear as Do’kir unleashed his frustration on the straw dummy in front of him. Normally, there would grace and control as he practiced his blade, but the way he was now? His feral eyes, his overgrown, disheveled fur, and how indiscernible his attacks were to a predator tearing apart prey made Cereza feel like she was watching a rabid beast.

The cat felt like a skooma-addict who hadn’t had his fix in months. He had the constant urge to move around, even when he tries sitting completely still he’d end up shivering like mad. Then there was that accursed itch, like needles prickling his skin, that spread like wildfire across his body. It lied just beneath his fur and skin, fur and skin Do’kir was tempted multiple times to rip out to relieve himself of this terrible itch. Sleep was another problem. Every night as he lied in bed, he would toss and turn for hours, eventually stopping to gaze into the Twin Moons that shined out his window, enthralled by their light. The light brought out a voice within him, asking him why he would waste the night sleeping when he should be out there hunting, especially when there’s a tasty, defenseless morsel nearby.

Finally, Do’kir paused to take deep, much-needed breaths. Cereza tugged his shirt. “Kitty, are you all right?”

“STAY BACK!” Do’kir roared and swatted the child’s hand.

When the bloody haze lifted from his vision, his sanity returned, and his eyes widened in regret as he realized Cereza was clutching her injured hand and on the verge of breaking down to tears.

“Little One, I-I’m sorry… Khajiit did not mean to strike you…” he pleaded, kneeling and pulling her into a hug that Cereza thankfully accepted.

As they hugged, Do’kir’s claws found their way to Cereza’s neck, tracing the soft flesh. The feral glint in his eyes returned, mesmerized how easy it would be to sink his claws into this prey’s flesh. Or better yet, have his teeth sink and rip into its neck so that he could savor the blood for himself.

 _NO!_ Do’kir mentally shouted as he wrestled back control of his mind, realizing his salivating maw was now only inches away from her throat.

He sobbed into Cereza’s shoulder, horror and disgust a heavy weight in the pit of his stomach.

Three years… three grueling years he spent honing his skills with a blade so that could protect his Little One from danger, only to become a danger himself, as if the Divines didn’t think he had suffered enough and decided to make him the victim of this new sick joke. He desperately wanted to believe that the attack last week never happened, that it was all some wicked nightmare, but the bite mark etched into his shoulder never ceased its burning and continued to remind him of this cruel reality: he was a predator of the night… a beast… a monster.

A werewolf.

Do’kir lifted his head from her shoulder and stared at the sword lying on the grass next to him, its lustrous edge tempting him.

Do’kir shook his head, conflict warring in his eyes. He can’t… not yet. What if another vicious beast crawled out of the forest? There would be no one around to protect Cereza. The Nord had once again had left before the attack doing Divines-know-what. Do’kir considered the Altmer teacher, but in his fractured and paranoid state of mind, the Khajiit couldn’t trust a High Elf to take care of a Nord.

With a heavy sigh, Do’kir resolved to stay with her until her father returned, praying he would still be a Khajiit when the Nord arrives.

* * *

The agitation that gnawed him from within was growing stronger with each passing day. He felt like an explosive, flame rune, ready to set off at the slightest intrusion. The birds that chirped every morning amplified to monstrous roars in his oversensitive ears, and he struggled to restrain his fight-or-flight instincts. The gentle breeze that brushed against his fur now felt like frigid needles prickling through fur and into his skin. Each day more and more clumps of tangled fur was sprouting across his shaggy body like weeds due to his negligence. He was always too busy sitting in his bed, looking out the window and biting nervously into his claws. Sometimes, the cat bit into his claws so much that the tip would actually break off, but then it would quickly regrow the next day even sharper; it fed into Do’kir’s stress and fear.

“Um… Kitty? Dinner’s ready,” a soft voice whispered behind him.

Do’kir’s bloodshot eyes looked over his shoulder to see Cereza standing by the door, caution and fear in her eyes. He couldn’t blame her. Who wouldn’t be afraid of cat that looked like it was picked up from a garbage pile and shaking madly like a skooma-addict under his blanket. “No, thank you, Little One. Khajiit is not hungry.” That was a lie. His stomach always felt like it was eating him from the inside and drool flowed out his salivating maw like an endless river. No matter how much he ate, it only fed his desire for MORE.

“Are you sure? I made your favorite: rabbit haunch.”

She began walking to him.

Do’kir quickly looked away and buried his head into his knees. _No no no no no, please stay away from Khajiit!_ He begged within his mind. Her soft footsteps sounded like deafening thunder that roared louder the closer she got. What should’ve been a comforting, small hand on his shoulder felt like a Warhammer slamming down him; he nearly jumped out of the blanket like a spring.

Cereza did not miss the way he flinched at her touch. “Kitty, do you hate me?”

His head snapped back up from his knees. He looked at Cereza, her eyes glistening with the beginning of tears. Do’kir desperately grasped for any words he could find in his stunned mind. “N-no! W-why would Do’kir… Khajiit would never…” came his jumbled mess of a reply

“You regret saving me that night, don’t you?” she said in a weak whimper. “Ever since that night, you’ve been avoiding me. You don’t hug me anymore. You don’t look at me anymore. You don’t kiss me goodnight on the forehead anymore. You don’t even read me bedtime stories anymore.” She has eyes glued to the floor, too ashamed to look at her guardian. Tears fall to the ground as she clutches the fabric over her chest tightly. “Maybe… maybe it would’ve been better if you just let me die…”

“No!” Do’kir cried, jolting Cereza out of her self-hate. He grabbed on to both her shoulders and, for the first time in a long time, looked straight into her eyes; fierce yellow eyes met glistening sapphires. “This Khajiit does not regret saving you, and he never will. Do’kir would rather suffer a thousand more curses before harm comes to his Little One!”

There was no point in holding back. Tears gushed out of Cereza’s eyes as she jumped straight into Do’kir’s arms for a tight embrace, something the Khajiit did not hesitate to give this time. She sobbed and cried into his chest, his fur in that area now drenched in tears. But he did not mind. His arms tightened around her. “Whenever Little One feels hopeless or lost, know that Do’kir will always be ready to give you a big hug.”

He could not remember the rest of that night. He recalled the child going under the blankets so she can sit next to him. For once, the hunger, the urge to hunt, the instinct to kill, they were nothing more than annoying whispers in the back of his mind that the Khajiit easily ignored. They dozed off cuddling side-by-side with the light of the twin moons shining down upon them.

* * *

It was happening tonight. He could feel it! Do’kir gazed up towards the bright blue sky where the invisible twin moons rested. Even now, he could feel their light stir the Beast inside the cage that is his body. The Beast within was clawing apart its cage, causing phantom pain to surge across his body. When Cereza walked up to him, he felt the Beast throw itself against the cage trying to pounce on his prey.

“Little One,” Do’kir said, his voice cracking. He gripped her wrists with shaky hands. His abnormally sharp claws dug into her frail skin, nearly drawing blood. Cereza bit her lip, fighting the urge to tell him to spare him any more stress. “Do’kir needs to leave you alone, just for tonight.”

“Where are you going?” she asked.

Do’kir took a moment to question himself whether it was a good idea to admit the truth. “Khajiit is…. Khajiit is… He sighed and shook his head. “Do’kir is only going to forage more food tonight. When he comes back, he’s going to make all your favorite food.”

Cereza was skeptical. The fear and stress in his eyes told her a different story. But she nodded.

Later that day, just as the sun was about to set below the horizon, Do’kir was ready to set out into the forest with only the clothes on his back. Before he left, he gave Cereza a detailed set of instructions: lock the doors and never answer it no matter how much someone knocks; don’t look out the windows; blow out all the candles; and hide under her blanket for the rest of the night. He gave her one last kiss on the forehead before he disappeared into the depths of the forest.

Do’kir didn’t care about directions; he walked in a straight line, not caring about the plants and insects squashed under his feet. He just needed to get as far away from Cereza as possible. The higher the twin, full moons rose, the stronger the Beast grew. He kept mindlessly walking through the forest until he finally collapsed to his knees in the middle of a clearing, no longer able to withstand the pain wracking across his body. His breathing became erratic, growing heavier and deeper as his lungs expanded beyond its limits. He clutched his chest and rolled over to his back where the full, twin moons stared back at him. The full brunt of their light felt like it set his entire body ablaze, like they were trying to burn away his weak, feeble body to reveal the raging Beast inside

Do’kir screamed in pain as his body was wracked into violent seizures. It felt like molten, hot magma flowed through his veins! Muscles bulged and convulsed beneath his fur. Bones cracked and rearranged themselves. His arms and claws elongated, and he watched in horror as his legs twist and bend unnaturally into a digigrate position that was more suited for running on all fours like the feral creatures that roamed the forest; his feet mutated into animalistic paws complete with a set of razor-sharp claws that glinted dangerously under the moonlight.

A loud, sickening crunch of his bones forced Do’kir to flip over and bow to his elbows to the full moons. Their light fed the expanding muscles under his thickening hide, clothes ripped to shreds. His muzzle began to crack, and he looked down to see it lengthen and broaden before his eyes. Blood gushed out through his gums as his teeth grew and sharpened to tear through the toughest of prey.

Unimaginable pain ripped apart Do’kir’s mind piece by piece throughout the transformation. Desperately, he tried to hold on to what little sanity he could. But the further the transformation progressed, the farther Do’kir’s consciousness was dragged into the void of emptiness.

The final bone snapped into place. The creature that is Do’kir stood there, breathing deep and heavy. Its dark, crimson fur shimmered under the moonlight. It dug its claws into the ground, trying to get a feel for its new body.

But was this creature still Do’kir?

Finally, it opened its eyes. Intelligence, kindness, nothing that was Do’kir was left within those feral eyes; now, only the Beast remained. The Beast let out a terrible howl that echoed throughout the forest and let every animal know that they have become prey!

Because now, the Beast is on the hunt!

* * *

Cereza swallowed her fear. She stared into the forest that darkened the more the sun faded beneath the horizon. The question she asked herself: why was she doing this?

The object she held close to her chest reminded her of her mission. It was her guardian’s sword, almost comically oversized compared to her tiny frame. She accepted the fact Do’kir will be furious with her, scold her and probably punish her with no sweets for a month. But when she saw his iron sword leaning against the chair, forgotten, she knew she had to return it. The forest was a dangerous place, especially at night without a weapon in hand. The same risk applied to her of course, but she reasoned that Do’kir couldn’t have gone far given how much time elapsed since he left. He was probably nearby searching for mushrooms or picking berries off bushes.

As long as she returns before nightfall, she’ll be safe.

Cereza took her first tentative steps into the woods. It was easy at first; almost mystical as the sun disappeared more and more silver beams of moonlight streamed through the forest leaves. There was enough light to illuminate his footsteps across the dirt path. But she noticed how it he kept walking in a straight line; never did he stop to walk over to the occasional mushrooms or berries along the path. And the farther she ventured, the more jumbled and uneven his footprints became, almost like he was dragging his legs along. Soon, she came across an open clearing where a familiar, red figure was sprawled on the ground.

She was about to run into the open moonlight, his name ready in her lips, but Do’kir’s strangled cry of pain stole her breath away. She watched helplessly as his body was thrown into a state of violent spasms. It’s like some invisible phantom was there, bludgeoning his body to unnaturally twist and contort. Cereza collapsed behind a tree, her guardian’s sword forgotten in the grass and sobbing into her knees. She covered her ears, trying to endure his screams and sickening cracks of bone. When the sounds finally died down, she released her ears. All that was left was the heavy breathing of what must’ve been an enormous animal.

Mustering her courage, Cereza peeked behind the tree.

In Do’kir’s place was a majestic creature. Its powerful muscles bulged under its dark, crimson fur. Its head resembled a mix between a lion and a wolf; a regal, orange lion’s mane shimmered under the moonlight from its neck all the way down to its shoulders. Its muzzle was long like a wolf, but also broad like a lion, complete with a set of razor-sharp fangs that made Cereza feel that just by looking at them they were piercing into her skin.

Cereza was about to step into the clearing, but then the creature opened its eyes. The feral ferocity, the beastly urge to hunt, and the hungry desire to kill stopped Cereza in her tracks. The Beast unleashed bloodcurdling howl that chilled Cereza to the bone.

Finished with its grand entrance, the Beast began sniffing the air. Cereza’s body froze. Breathing forgotten, she watched the Beast’s nose edge closer and closer to her direction. The Beast stalked towards her hidden position on all fours. Every step was so slow it was agonizing, almost as if the Beast knew she was there and was taking sick delight in tormenting his prey.

Cereza dared not take another glance at the Beast, but in the corner of her eye she could see his snout come into view besides the tree. The snout stayed there to take a few more sniffs of the air. Without warning, the Beast bared its teeth, the scent of fear and prey stirring the hunger within. All it would take is one more step; one more step and the Beast will see his prey cowering behind the tree.

But then, another roar not originating from the Beast came from the opposite side of the clearing. The Beast withdrew his muzzle and ran back towards the clearing. The fear finally relinquished its chokehold on Cereza’s throat, allowing her to cough and gasp to try to refill her lungs with precious oxygen.

With one last, deep breath, Cereza peeked over the tree.

A large troll nearly matching the Beast’s size stood defiantly in the middle of the clearing. It seemed this troll had heard the Beast’s howl and accepted his challenge. And it was a fearsome opponent indeed. Sharp, armored spikes protruded throughout various parts of its dirty and hairy body. Its three eyes were as dark as an empty void. With strong, long arms ending in a three-fingered hand with wickedly sharp claws, it pounded its chest and unleashed another beastly roar.

The Beast responded with a roar of his own. Slowly, he circled around the challenger, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.

The troll grew impatient, and so, with a battle cry, it charged towards the Beast. It leaped high into the air and raised its arms above its head to form a single fist. With that height combined with the troll’s enormous strength, that single blow will be more than enough to shatter the Beast’s skull.

But the Beast proved too fast. At the last second, the Beast jumped away from the troll’s fist. The ground trembled as the Earth cracked under the blow. Before the troll can even turn around, the Beast pounced on his prey. They crashed back down with the troll on its back and struggling against the Beast on top. It kicked the air and roared, but the Beast had a firm hold over both its arms and latched his claws deep into them, drawing blood. His foolish prey won’t escape so easily. The Beast opened its maw, revealing rows of sharp teeth, glinting wickedly in the moonlight. He clamped them down on the troll’s shoulder. The troll released an attempt of a threatening growl, but it sounded more like a pathetic whimper. With one strong tug, the Beast ripped away the troll’s shoulder, blood arcing across the air.

The troll gave up showing its dominance. It was now crying and writhing uselessly against its restraints as the Beast swallowed the bloody flesh. Then, to its shock, the Beast jumped off the troll. The troll quickly stood to its feet. It put a hand on its injury; a huge portion of its shoulder now missing, bone and bleeding flesh exposed to the night. It turned and limped away, a feeble attempt to escape.

There was a flash of red in the corner of the troll’s eyes, and soon it collapsed to its knees as new, agonizing pain surged across its body. The troll let out another pitiful cry when it realized its entire arm was missing! It looked behind him to see the Beast ripping out and consuming the flesh of his missing arm! When the arm was reduced to a bloodied bone, the Beast threw it away and focused intensely on the troll, not moving another inch from his spot.

The troll was confused. Why would the Beast not attack? It was only when the troll took another step and lost another piece of flesh did it realize: the Beast was playing with it! The Beast took sick delight in watching his prey’s pitiful attempts to escape, and slowing rip them apart piece by piece until they were nothing more than a walking skeleton.

This went on for some time; troll would take a single step and the Beast would rip out and consume more its flesh as payment. The life in the troll’s eyes faded, and finally fell to the ground, no longer moving. The Beast let out a displeased grunt, disappointed the game ended so early. He walked over to the corpse to finish his meal.

Cereza took this opportunity to escape. The Beast’s loud, sloppy eating masked the sound of her tiny footsteps racing across the forest floor. She just had to get home! Just follow Do’kir’s instructions she’ll be safe! She kept running and running, lungs burning. The darkness stretched infinitely, and Cereza gave in to panic. She fell and sobbed into her knees within the vast darkness. She wished she had listened to Do’kir. She wished she was sleeping soundly in bed instead of crying in this empty void. But what she wished for most of all? She wished Do’kir was here to hold her in his arms and shield her from the bitter cold.

A low growl emerged within the darkness, putting a stop to her tears and breathing caught a to hitch. She looked in front of her to see the outlines of another creature. It was another troll. It was smaller than the last one, but more than capable of killing the small, frail child in front of it. It stalked towards her, its stench growing stronger and causing bile to rise within Cereza’s throat. It raised its arms.

Cereza closed her eyes, readying herself for the impact that will end her life.

Suddenly, a vicious roar erupted behind her. Cereza felt the wind rush past her as a large figure pounced over her and crashed into the other troll. Darkness clouded her vision, but the troll’s cries of pain and flesh being torn from bone were something her ears could never miss. The troll’s struggles grew weaker and weaker, until only heavy breathing echoed throughout the darkness.

The dark clouds parted the moons, allowing their light to fill the forest once more.

Cereza had her breath stolen away once again. The moonlight granted the Beast an otherworldly, crimson glow, creating a mix of fear and awe within Cereza over his majesty.

A deadly growl left the Beast’s maw, waking Cereza from her trance. The Beast’s hungry drool dripped through bared fangs and its feral eyes were locked on to his newest prey. Cereza stood up, and the Beast crouched on all fours, ready to pounce.

Cereza was confused as to why he hadn’t attacked yet. She was just a weak, frail child. Easy pickings for a large predator. Then she recalled the way the Beast toyed with the first troll; the wicked delight in the Beast’s feral eyes as he ripped apart both flesh and hope of his prey piece by piece.

And now, the Beast planned to subject Cereza to the same torture.

Hot tears welled up in her eyes. Hopelessness and despair overwhelmed her as her spirit shattered. She sobbed into her hands. So this was it. This was how she was going to die: a miserable, stupid child tortured alone deep within this dark forest.

But what scared her the most was Do’kir. What would his reaction be when he reverts back and sees the terrible deed he’s done? He would be locked in a perpetual state of depression. Never to smile… never to experience joy and love…

Cereza cursed her own life. It’s her fault he’s become a monster. If it weren’t for her… if only she just let herself die that fateful night…

_Whenever Little One feels hopeless or lost, know that Do’kir will always be ready to give you a big hug._

* * *

The entire time, the Beast contemplated which piece of flesh should he rip first. A leg? An arm? Maybe a bit of her shoulder? The Beast decided against this. This particular prey would die of blood loss long before he can have his fill of fun. Ultimately he decided one of his prey’s delicate fingers would suffice. Perhaps take a small bite every five steps? And when he’s eaten all ten, he’ll be satisfied and proceed to enjoy the rest of his meal.

But of course, the game can only start when his prey runs.

The Beast’s prey stood perfectly still, its sapphire eyes gazing straight into his feral, yellow orbs. Did it wish to challenge him like that first troll? He hoped not. It wouldn’t be as fun with prey so small and weak.

The Beast’s gaze hardened as his prey readied into a running stance. Which direction will she run, the Beast mused. To the left? To the right? Perhaps climb a tree? It didn’t matter to him. The moment she turns away is the moment he strikes.

So, the Beast was completely stunned when it ran towards him.

“Kittyyyyyy!” it cried, tears running hot down its cheek. It buried itself into his neck, his mane becoming drenched in its tears. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry!” it sobbed, voice cracking with every word.

“It’s my fault you’re like this! It’s my fault you became a monster! So… so just know… that if you kill me… I promise I won’t hate you.”

The Beast had enough of his prey’s rambling. He threw it off his mane and it fell to the ground. The Beast growled at it, trying to nudge it up to continue the game. But it refused to stand. It kept looking at him with that pathetic, teary-eyed look.

Fine. The Beast lost his appetite for games.

He raised his arm, the shadows of his unsheathed claws enveloping its tiny form.

One swipe. One swipe is all it would take spill his prey’s organs across the floor. Yet, for some reason, the Beast couldn’t bring himself to do the deed. The way her tearful eyes conveyed to him her sadness… her loss of hope… it caused a strange sensation to surge within his chest. The Beast’s raised arm was shaking, his breathing becoming too heavy to bear and his own tears forming in his feral eyes. Regret, despair, and the feeling of great loss swirling into a great storm within him. But why? What was such great a loss to cause him such deep despair and painful regret?

The Beast dropped his arm. Tears flowed freely from his eyes and fall to the floor. He couldn’t handle it. All this regret… all this despair… it was ripping him apart and creating a form of pain he could not fathom.

His prey finally stood back up, but instead of running, she went straight back into hugging his mane. The Beast didn’t push her away this time. It felt nice to be held like that. It eased his aching heart and gave him a relaxing sense of calm. She pulled away, and the Beast took that opportunity to gaze into her eyes. A different feeling fluttered in his chest: love. The instinct to hunt; the instinct to kill, it was all burned away and replaced by a new, more powerful instinct: the instinct to protect.

The Beast leaned forward to give her affectionate licks across her face, lapping away her stray tears.

“Stop, Kitty!” she giggled, trying to push his huge head away to no success. “Your whiskers still tickle!”

Kitty… that word was somehow familiar to the Beast. Ah yes, now he remembered! That’s his name! And that also remind him: didn’t he have a name for her? He contemplated over it. Her name had something to do with being small…

The Beast’s eyes lit up when he remembered. The name he called her was Little Prey!

The Beast gave her one last sloppy kiss on the cheek, and Little Prey returned his affection with a scratch behind the ears. He purred softly and leaned his head closer to her touch.

The sudden snap of twig hidden deep within the woods broke the peaceful moment. The Beast’s eyes hardened. He raised his head and sniffed the air. It was dangerous for Little Prey to stay here any longer. It was too open, and there were too many predators that roamed these forests.

Carefully, he picked up Little Prey in his clawed hand and set her on his back. With Little Prey having a firm grip on his mane, he sped through the forest searching for a safe spot to rest. He almost missed it, but shrouded behind a large pile of bushes was a small cave. He ventured inside it. It didn’t go very deep and his head would bump the ceiling if he stood to full height on two legs. Perfect for one night of peaceful sleep.

Gently he set Little Prey down. He laid down and curled his large, fuzzy body around her to give as much of his warmth as possible. With such a warm, furry pillow at her side, Little Prey was soon fast asleep. The Beast chuckled and gave her one last lick on the cheek before laying his head down and closing his eyes.

Blissful dreams came easily that night.

* * *

When Cereza opened her eyes, she thought she’d wake up to a warm, furry pillow. Instead, she found herself in her own bed with the morning light streaming through her window. Was last night all a dream?

“Little One, Do’kir has prepared breakfast!” came the voice of her guardian from downstairs. She left her bed and rushed down the stairs. Waiting for her there was a familiar Khajiit, fully dressed in a cooking apron. The shivering, the clumpy fur, and bloodshot eyes were all gone.

“Morning, Kitty. How was foraging last night?”

Do’kir’s eyes hardened into a disapproving scowl. “Khajiit is disappointed you didn’t follow his instruction last night. He specifically said to stay in the house last night.”

Cereza’s sweet smile fell to a sad frown. Do’kir sighed. “But since Little One was not hurt, Do’kir is not too mad.”

“Yeah, thanks, Kitty!” she cheered and ran over to Do’kir to give him a big hug.

Do’kir felt the air shift quickly behind him. By the Twin Moons, was his tail… wagging?

“But no sweets for you for a month,” Do’kir added with a stern face.

“What!”

**Author’s Note: To be honest, it’s getting harder to keep myself motivated to write stories with everything that’s been going on. But at least I hope people like this chapter.**

**Author's Note:**

> Finally decided to make an account here. If you love these chapters, feel free to express them in the comments!


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